


Come Out of the Dark

by writeloveship



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Scott McCall, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, In Love!Derek, Lydia Martin & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, M/M, No Sex, Nogitsune Stiles, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, post season 3B, sterek, void!Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-03
Updated: 2015-03-25
Packaged: 2018-03-16 02:17:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 38,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3470681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writeloveship/pseuds/writeloveship
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek returns from South America expecting to find his Beacon Hills pack just how he left them. But before Derek even has the chance to unpack and settle in, he finds out what- and who- had been troubling and possessing his pack members while he'd been gone.<br/>And learns that it hasn't quite left all of them alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Welcome Back, Derek

**Author's Note:**

> Come Out of The Dark is back, completely revamped and edited; enjoy our favorite Beacon Hills pack in COotD 2.0.

Beacon Coffee & Tea looked just as he remembered; the mosaic tiled round tables were still sun-bleached into looking like earth toned stone; the once white awning Derek had _never_ seen white even further weathered and frayed; and the heavy scent of crushed coffee beans pouring out from the propped open door and onto the sidewalk. It hadn’t yet been a year, but Derek still enjoyed coming back to things  _just_  how he left them. It felt like a welcome home, even if no one on the streets were paying any attention to him.

Derek walked through the doorway and was greeted by the usual hushed chatter from people crowded around wooden tables and marble counters. Derek’s senses were overwhelmed momentarily as it seemed _every_ group was cackling and causing a ruckus, especially to Derek’s amplifying hearing. Except for a particular group directly to Derek’s left as he walked in- they were completely silent. It was a little off putting, seeing as though his heightened sense of hearing only picked up on their  _breathing_. But he shook it off as a study group, and continued towards the counter to order a double shot espresso- something he needed after an almost twelve hour flight and almost four hours of non-stop driving.

Staying with Cora in South America was definitely an impromptu vacation Derek did not regret; he got to travel to different countries, experience different cultures, and even pick up a little Spanish on the way. It was a great few months away from his crazy adventures in Beacon Hills. At least for his adventures with Cora all he needed was water, sun block, and a map- not wolfsbane, Kanima venom, and a whiny teenage alpha.

Although, after a while, Derek felt like he needed to come back. He felt much more at home in California this time around- like it  _was_  finally home to him. It wasn’t a foreclosed burnt house or an abandoned subway car. It was a set of loft keys sitting in his pocket, reminding him he had somewhere to go, and all the time in the world to get there.

Derek waited for his coffee order to be called, standing by the small counter to the right of the register. He leaned his back against it and put his elbows up on the ledge as he looked around the café, watching people walk by the glass door and open windows. He was about to turn back to face the cute twenty something handing him his drink when he felt an unfamiliar chill run down his spine. Derek could feel his eyes flash and claws itch to unfurl as Derek recognized the instinct; there was an alpha nearby. And not just within a couple mile radius, this feeling was much stronger. They were  _practically on top of him_ _._

Derek tried to act as casual as possible as he winked at the barista that had written his phone number on his coffee sleeve, and resisted the urge to growl at the entire café. As he thanked the barista, his eyes followed the man walking behind him, brushing past Derek’s back sending his claws almost into his cup. Being in South America for so long, away from a pack- his pack- had left him susceptible to his oppressed animal instincts. Especially when an alpha practically body slams you on his way back from the bathroom.

Once Derek’s blinding bloodlust instincts passed, he told himself it was another pack just walking through the town- werewolf packs needed coffee too. He allowed himself to watch the alpha walk towards his pack casually- until Derek saw who his pack was:

Lydia was sitting on the leather loveseat, a notebook in her lap and her pen feverishly sketching over the blank page; a young brunette was biting the tip of her highlighter while she kept asking the Asian girl to her right- who was giving Scott the biggest set of heart eyes- what an integral was while  _that_  girl leaned across the coffee table to ask a zoned out, surprisingly _still_ Stiles how to explain it to Highlighter Girl.

Derek had thought about Stiles a bit while he was in South America, it wasn’t constant but he thought about him- missed him- every time he had too much time to himself and to his thoughts. It had been so long since Derek had  _seen him_  that immediately his ability to breathe was held hostage and he could hear his own heart fluttering at the sight of the boy basking in the sunlight cast in through the open window. It was quite a sight to come back to.

Derek watched as Scott walked right up to Stiles, nudging his foot and getting the boy to jolt awake, his eyes wide and searching, before eventually falling on Scott and immediately relaxing; Derek could hear the jump in his heart rate from where he hid. Scott handed Stiles the coffee in his left hand, after handing the one in his right to the girl Derek heard him call ‘Kira’. As Scott went to walk past him and take his seat, Stiles reached out and grabbed Scott’s arm, gripping it tightly, yet fondly, and smiling at him softly.

 _Oh. Looks like Scott and Stiles figured out whatever it was they had going on between them_. Derek thought to himself, almost wanting to laugh at the ridiculousness of the thought; Scott was  _so_  not Stiles’ type.

Scott didn’t even _own_ a leather jacket. And didn’t scowl _nearly_ enough.

Derek took a sip of his coffee and slowly felt himself raise an eyebrow as Stiles leaned back and rested his head on Lydia’s shoulder, her arm wrapping around his shoulders and one hand playing with the string on his sweatshirt.  _Maybe a threesome?_ Derek wasn’t sure if Stiles was into that kind of thing, but things might have changed since he left _._  Drastically changed. Maybe things _weren’t_ as he left them.

Derek continued watching as the Kira girl held Scott’s hand, talking to him quietly and grinning stupidly, as was Scott; the girl beside Kira was practically  _growling_  at her calculus homework- definitely one of their own; Lydia was still scribbling on her page in every direction, like the words were coming to her faster than her hand would write them; and Stiles was completely still, staring up at the ceiling, not taking notice to anyone else in the group- not even the girl touching him.  _The girl he’d been in love with for over ten years_.

Derek was still deep in thought- and confusion- when he felt a pair of eyes on him, bright blue glowing eyes. Derek flashed his own back to the girl just in time for Scott’s red alpha eyes to find him. Immediately, they flickered out and Scott was out of his seat, rushing over to him before Derek could even set his eyes back to their human appearance.

“Derek!” He cried, nearly tripping over a chair as he fell into a hug with Derek. “You’re back!”

“I am.” Derek replied dumbly, not sure how to deal with the sudden affection or focus of attention towards him. “I see you’ve missed me.” Derek was never very good at ‘hello’s. Or ‘goodbye’s.

“We all have!” Scott said, pulling away and holding him by the shoulders. “We’ve needed you, man.”

“Needed me?” Derek echoed, laughing. “It looks like you’ve gotten a pack all on your own… Even though I’m sure half of them are humans.”

“Nope, still only Stiles. Again.” Scott chuckled, nodding his head in the direction of his silent, lethargic best friend. Derek wasn’t sure what to say as soon as Scott mentioned Stiles. He wanted to immediately ask for an update on what had happened, who dated who, who killed what, who sacrificed who, who knew what- He needed the run down, but all he could manage was, “Introduce me?”

Scott was practically  _flattered_  by his request. As if Derek was complimenting his choice in pack members by offering his presence to the circle of friends all pouring themselves over their work and own possible research. He grabbed Derek by the wrist and tugged him over. Apparently Scott was touchy with everyone. Or maybe they were all just dating each other and Derek had just come back at a _bad_ time…

Derek shuddered at the thought and struggled to keep the disgust off his face as he was introduced to Kira, Scott’s new girlfriend. She seemed reasonably pleasant to Derek and even offered to shake his hand. The girl threatening bodily harm to her math homework turned out to be Malia, a were-coyote. Scott waved towards Lydia and Stiles with a quiet “Of course we have Lydia. And, you know Stiles.” which Derek wasn’t sure how to take. It sounded mildly suggestive, but Derek wasn’t going to claw Scott to death in the middle of a coffee shop.

“Where’s Argent?” Derek asked, feeling like the group was awfully small, fitting on just two couches in the coffee shop.

“Allison?” Scott asked, his voice hitching and his heartbeat skipping a beat. Derek assumed it was still ‘first love jitters’ until he noticed every set of eyes- except Stiles- had fallen on them, watching Scott carefully.

“Yeah… Where is she?” Derek asked, looking around; more to avoid all the eyes than look for Allison.

“Derek, we lost Allison.” Scott replied, his voice dropping to a low whisper. “She, uh, she died.”

“ _What_?” Derek knew it had to be a trick. No one kills an Argent- especially someone as devoted, good-hearted, and kind spirited as Allison. It had to be a joke. “ _Allison_? What the hell happened? Who even… _W-What_?”

“We, uh, we don’t talk about it.” Scott muttered, rubbing the back of his neck and clearing his throat. Derek knew a sore spot when he saw one.

“Oh.” Derek said, immediately dropping the subject. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I’m so sorry for your loss.” Derek patted Scott on the shoulder and tried to gauge a reaction from the group. Sure, they all seemed upset about the loss, but they also seemed like they were keeping their emotions in check; every movement seemed measured. Especially the way Malia reached across and squeezed Stiles’ knee, causing his distant stare to come alive and find the girl’s concern expression. “I won’t bring it up again.” Derek muttered, making a small note to himself.

Derek sat for a little bit over a half hour before growing unbearably uncomfortable in the coffee shop. It wasn’t the crowded tables and busy environment, or even the fact he was sitting with the pack he practically _abandoned_  that was making him squirm in his seat- it was Stiles. Every once in a while, when the conversation would lull and divide among the couples, Derek would turn to Stiles, awkwardly clear his throat, and ask him about school, college, his dad, his life,  _the color of his fucking sweatshirt-_ only to receive the silent treatment. Derek wasn’t sure what he had done, but Stiles didn’t even seem to acknowledge there were people around him and that Derek was alive, let alone  _answer his questions._

“Stiles?” Derek said finally, reaching out and touching Stiles' hand, softly with just his fingertips. They both recoiled quickly, staring down at their hands. Stiles due to panic and what seemed to be _fear_ and Derek due to the radiating heat flowing up his arm in ribbons of black: Pain.

“Stiles? Is everything okay?” Lydia whispered, combing her fingers through his hair and rubbing his forearm soothingly; Stiles’ hands were suddenly shaking and spilling his coffee over his shoes. “What happened?” Her eyes immediately fell to Derek, and the hand he was staring at. “Don’t touch him.” She said firmly, her eyes hardening and her plum glossed lips pursing as he shot daggers in his direction.

Apparently Derek  _had_  done something wrong. And everyone seemed to know but him.

Derek leaned back in his seat, retracting from Stiles and making sure that no part of him even entered Stiles’ personal space as he ran through the months, days, and even  _seconds_  before he left Beacon Hills. What could he have done to annoy the pack off so much- yet leave Scott friendly as ever?

Derek was so intent on leaving and  _getting away_  that he hadn’t thought of the people he’d left behind. He didn’t even take a minute to consider Stiles.

He hadn’t even taken a minute to consider how Stiles felt about him uprooting his life and moving to a different continent. He hadn’t considered how he had left Stiles-  _abandoned_  Stiles- leaving him without any answers to his constant open-ended questions; before Cora became ill, he and Stiles had begun a never ending game of chasing glances, late night phone tag, and lingering brushes of the hands when scheming with the pack at the loft’s dining table.

There had been a conversation- just one- a late Wednesday night in October. Scott and Issac were curled up on the floor of Scott’s living room, their backs to each other although they were sharing a blanket; Lydia was in the oversized arm chair, her legs pulled up to her chest and high heels kicked off and next to Scott’s head; and Allison lying across the length of the couch, her one leg dangling off the side, nearly over Isaac’s face. Each one was passed out and snoring, completely oblivious to the only two people awake, puttering around in the kitchen, completely skating around each other.

Derek had been helping Stiles clean up Scott’s kitchen since they had used possibly  _every_  dish in the house when they had to cook for three werewolves, a teenage warrior, a banshee, and a human teenage boy. Stiles was scrubbing a pot in the sink, complaining about his completely average and non-superhuman strength failing him and keeping him from scraping the burnt food off the bottom of the pan. Derek immediately offered to help, plunging his hands into the warm, soapy water and wrapping his fingers around Stiles’ hands instead of a pot handle on accident. They both moved away quickly, not wanting to be  _that_  person that held on for too long and revealed every hidden secret and suppressed thought between them.

It was Stiles that spoke first that night. For ten minutes he and Derek had been staring at the floor, trying to figure out what it was that was in the energy around them, but in a moment, Stiles had his head raised and mouth running, rambling frantically. At first it was the embarrassing ‘I totally didn’t think you were gay, if that’s the vibe you’re getting from me’ and then ‘I mean, I’m not even sure if  _I’m_  gay, but I would totally do a guy, I guess… I mean, I’m okay with being bi’. After Derek broke out laughing one too many times, Stiles was red in the face and pouring his heart out, talking about the way his heart clenched and brain malfunctioned every time Derek was near him and how he couldn’t even stop talking if he wanted because Derek was like a drug to him and caused him to lose all control. How there was nothing he wouldn’t do in this world to just kiss Derek for  _one second_  and how Derek’s stupid substitute English teacher girlfriend was the most lucky human being on the planet that Stiles envied with every fiber in his being and hated and regretted every day he waited to tell Derek his feelings because now they were just going to go on with their lives knowing _exactly_ what Stiles thought and what went through his mind every time Derek was around. There were no more secrets, no more mystery; now Derek knew, and Stiles hated himself for even thinking that for a second he knew what he was doing and could get Derek to feel the same. Girlfriend of not, Stiles knew they weren’t going to end up together; Derek was a stronger person than Stiles and deserved so much better than a dorky teenager with ADHD and a dead mother but it didn’t stop the feelings of giddy joy and happiness from swelling in Stiles’ chest every time Derek was around him. And that was the worst part. He would be endlessly waiting for nothing at all.

Derek sat there in the coffee shop, running through his past moments in Beacon Hills and last conversations with each pack member and remembered he _never_ said anything back to Stiles; immediately after Stiles finished and took a recovering, gasping breath, Scott tumbled in the kitchen, asking if everything was okay; he heard racing heartbeats from the living room. Once Scott interrupted their moment, they never got it back. Derek never knew what to say around Stiles the second time around. There was no way to replicate that same raw, open, and _angry_ emotional outpour. Derek’s speech would just sound like an obligatory ‘return the feelings’ conversation. And that wasn’t what Derek wanted. He didn’t want their relationship- whatever it was- to die. But, even when Derek did try to get Stiles alone again, Scott would need emergency Calculus help or  _someone_  would be dying at the most inopportune time. Or someone would be getting ritually sacrificed for being a _virgin._

Boy, was  _that_  a fun discussion to have with the pack. Each pack member calm and collected and more focused on the facts at hand while only one- the pale, lanky boy to Derek’s left- panicked about his lack of sexual experience and its effect on his life span. It made the return conversation _harder_ to start. It made Derek seem like he had motives, like he had something to ‘gain’ by telling Stiles this _now_ , when really all he wanted to do was have a conversation with him. Have a conversation with Stiles and tell him his heart did the same thing and his stomach did this weird flipping thing that it never did with Jennifer and his brain lost control just like Stiles’ and everything got blurry and foggy around him- like he’s the only important thing in the world.

But now Derek was back in Beacon Hills having never said any of those things, sitting there looking like a complete jackass, slightly more tan and fluent in two languages. No wonder Stiles didn’t want to talk to him.

“Stiles, I’m sorry.” Derek began, feeling his words finally forming in a fog of complete uncertainty- except for the certainty that he should just _stop_ talking.

“Stiles.” Scott cut Derek off with a bright smile and extended hand. “Do you want another coffee? I’m getting myself something.” Stiles remained silent, his eyes never lifting from his hands as Lydia held him by the shoulders. “You sure? Nothing to eat?” Still nothing. “Okay. Be back in a second.”

Stiles was silent to _Scott_ \- his best friend practically since  _birth_ \- so unless Scott had accidentally not reciprocated a confession of love recently, there really was no reason for him to be getting the silent treatment along with Derek.

“Wait up, Scott!” Derek followed Scott over to the counter and tried to seem as inconspicuous as possible to the group behind him as he almost cornered Scott against the marble counter.

“What’s up, Derek?” Scott asked, handing money over to the barista and barely noticing Derek’s awkward, nervous, trying-to-be-cool behavior.

“Nothing, just… wondering about Stiles. T-That’s all.” He said slyly, flipping through the sugar packets. Like Scott’s answer was  _really_ something he was interested in.

“What do you mean?” Scott laughed, furrowing his eyebrows at Derek. “Sometimes he doesn’t want more coffee… The man’s got a limit, you know.”

“No. Scott.” Derek said flatly, realizing he would have to be blunt to get Scott to see his backdoor way of asking for a update on Stiles’ drastically different personality. “I mean the silence!” Derek waved his arm out towards the boy that was still leaning into Lydia and barely reacting to the affection being given to him or the quiet, kind words she was muttering to him as she rubbed his arm. “He’s barely even _there_.”

“ _Oh!_  You mean the mute thing?” Scott asked, scrunching his nose as if it was a minute detail that didn’t need mentioning.

“The mute thing-  _Scott!_ ” Derek slapped Scott upside the head and refused to use his words to convey to Scott how much of a stupid idea it was to leave out that  _minor detail_.

“Ouch! Don’t hit me!” Scott whined, rubbing the back of his head. “I didn’t think it was important to tell you! So what? Stiles suffered a traumatic event or  _whatever_  and now chooses not to speak. What’s the big deal?”

“Scott. Half of Stiles’  _personality_  is helpless, meaningless rambling that offends half the people he’s speaking to- How does one  _forget_  to mention that?” Derek asked, folding his arms across his chest.

“I guess we’ve just gotten used to it- He hasn’t spoken in months.” Scott confessed, glancing back at Stiles, completely surrounded by Malia, Kira, and Lydia, each one cooing to him softly and trying to comfort him the most. Derek wanted to make a joke about how Stiles must be enjoying himself, but he decided to keep his mouth shut when he saw the way Scott kept staring, his eyebrows furrowing slightly and eyes growing distant; Scott wasn’t as okay with it as he let on to Derek. As he let on to everyone. Scott was most definitely living up to his True Alpha status- everyone before him, even old pack members he hadn’t seen in months.

“Thanks, Scott.” Derek clapped Scott on the shoulder and smiled at him. Scott never did look away from Stiles. Even as the barista came back to give Scott his drink- and wink at Derek again- he kept side eyeing Stiles and the pack, watching them carefully. “Look, Scott, I’m gonna head out. I should really move all my stuff back into the loft and get situated- you understand.”

“Oh, yeah. Go, do your thing.” Scott answered slowly, not really responding to what Derek said, but to Derek in general, having heard his voice.

“I’ll see you around, Scott.” Derek waved to the alpha, and his pack, as he walked out the door and back to his car.

Stiles was a mute. Eventually having their ‘conversation’ was going to be more difficult than Derek had anticipated. This complicated things a bit.

How was Derek supposed to articulate his feelings to a boy who usually did all the talking? Having complete silent staring him down while he scrambled for words was not going to inspire confidence in Derek. And he’d only end up making a bigger ass of himself.

The best possible option for Derek at that moment was to go home, and think things over. Yes, lots and lots of thinking and planning and rethinking and most definitely _no_ acting without any premeditated plan.

The drive to Derek’s loft was comforting; it reminded him of driving the tired, Darach hunting pack back to his house so they could all heal and recover in a safe, secluded area, all under the watch of born-werewolves that at least pretended to have all the answers. Or racing home because he went out for  _three_   _seconds_  and already Peter was calling him, saying that Stiles was banging on their front door with important discoveries and complete ‘game-changers’. Like Stiles always does. Or did. Derek wasn’t sure how much crime solving Stiles was able to do in his condition. It didn’t seem like he could focus on anything- even more than usual.

Derek parked outside his building and grabbed one of his bags from the back before swinging it over his shoulder and heading for the front door. He climbed to the top floor of the building eagerly, digging out his key in the process. Although, Derek would only need the key if the door was locked, which it most _definitely_ wasn’t.

“Peter?” Derek called, walking in the open door. “Peter, are you here?” Derek hadn’t thought of the possibility of his uncle being in his loft; he had his own place downtown. “ _Peter_!” He shouted.

“Yes, Derek. I heard you. I do have super sensitive hearing, after all.” He sighed, stomping down the spiral staircase in the back corner. “There’s no need to _yell_.”

“I-I had no idea you’d be here.” Derek said. “I’m actually sorta glad to see you. It’s been a while.”

“I’m glad you’re here too.” Peter replied. His response startled Derek and made him walk more hesitantly into the loft. “I’ve had to keep close contact with the Argents since you left; I’ve had to help people.” There it was.  _There_  was his uncle.

“Help people?” Derek repeated. “Since when is _that_ in your vocabulary?”

“Since your little boyfriend nearly killed half the town.” Peter said bitterly, his voice dragging out each word and causing Derek’s claws to press against his palms.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Derek said through gritted teeth. Honestly he didn’t. He wasn’t just being coy to avoid the fact that Peter had picked up on his racing heartbeat and nervous habits whenever Stiles was over at the loft, telling Derek all about the discoveries he’d made, standing at his dining table practically in his pajamas at two in the morning. Derek honestly didn’t understand what Peter was saying- or at least, didn’t understand what he was implying with Stiles _killing_ people. The other stuff he understood completely. “What does that have to do with the Argents?”

“Oh. You have no idea, do you?” Peter seemed to be relishing in  _something_ Derek admitted and Derek could just  _hear_  his smirk. “You are  _clueless_.”

“Then  _enlighten me_.” Derek hissed, turning around to face his uncle, his eyes flashing in the heat of the moment. His threshold for his uncle’s bullshit had dropped significantly since he went on vacation with Cora.

“Do you like _riddles_ , Derek?” Peter asked sweetly, changing the subject quickly. What he always did when he was hiding things. Or dragging them out.

“Oh my god. This is why I left. This is  _exactly_ why I left.” Derek muttered, going back to unpacking his bag and turning his back on Peter.

“What gets bigger the more you take away?” Peter continued, not listening to Derek.

“A hole.” Derek sighed, deciding there was no other way around this conversation besides answering Peter’s riddles.

“What gets wet the more it dries?”

“A towel.”

“When is a door not a door?”

“When it’s ajar- Is this _going_ anywhere? Because I have things to do.” Derek barked, growing impatient.

“Alright! Alright! Last one.” Peter promised, sounding sincere. “When is Stiles a thousand year old dark spirit with the motives to kill and cause chaos, strife, and ultimately pain to everyone in Beacon Hills?” Derek was mid-unfold when he felt his entire body tighten, making movement impossible.

_“Stiles suffered a traumatic event or whatever and now chooses not to speak. What’s the big deal?”_

Traumatic event? Derek knew Scott was better than to gloss over Stiles possibly being  _possessed_  with the words ‘traumatic event’. The boy couldn’t be  _that_  stupid. Could he?

“No answer? Hmm, you were really on a roll there, Derek. I’m surprised.” Peter sighed, even though he was absolutely beaming at Derek. “Alright, I’ll give you a hint. It’s when you  _weren’t here_  and he had no emotional anchor  _what so ever_. Is that clear enough, or did I make it worse?”

“What are you talking about?” Derek breathed, refusing to move before he knew whether or not Peter was just trying to pry around and get into his head. This had to be some form of fabricated lie; Derek  _just_  saw Stiles.

“Something about the ‘ _door into his mind_ ’ ring any bells?” Peter continued, pacing the floor with light, airy steps, practically dancing across the floor.

Derek remembered something about that. Scott’s boss had said something about doors in their minds being opened, and needing them to be closed before  _things_  got in. But possession definitely wasn’t in the Terms and Conditions of stopping Jennifer before she sacrificed almost all the packs’ parents. Oh  _shit_. “Jennifer.”

“No.” Peter said, squinting at Derek. “Not quite who we are talking about, although it’s good to know you still think about her.”

“No!” Derek shouted, shaking his head and trying to rattle his mind free of the surrounding suffocating thoughts. “The doors. It was from what they did to stop Jennifer. It was all in their plan- It’s  _my fault_.”

“Whoa. Not the answer to the riddle.” Peter rebutted. “The correct answer is ‘when he’s a Nogitsune’. You are  _really_ terrible at these things, Derek.”

Derek was no longer listening to the words coming from his uncle. He was too busy trying to find his cell phone and call Scott to even  _care_  what Peter was muttering sarcastically. Finally, he found his phone underneath his jeans and quickly emergency dialed Scott’s number, putting it to his ear and running out the door with his car keys in his free hand.

“Derek?” Scott answered immediately, sounding confused yet pleasantly surprised.

“Scott.” Derek panted, taking the stairs three at a time. “I need you to tell me  _exactly_ how Allison died.”


	2. Reaching

“It was Stiles. _Stiles_ did all of **that**?” It was the first time Derek had spoken all evening.

After hanging up with Scott, and being told the answers to his questions weren’t one worded, Derek rushed to his car and sped over to Scott’s house, standing at his front door before Scott even came back from dropping Stiles off at his house. He had so many questions about Stiles' muteness, the pack's new additions, and Allison- mostly Allison- but Scott kept saying that there was no simple answer; it was a story. And Scott sat him down at his dining table to explain it from the beginning.

“Well, not _Stiles_ exactly. Something that looked like Stiles and knew a lot about Stiles and could play a really good version of Stiles-”

“Yes, I get it; basically him. Without the whole… _Stiles_ of it all.” Derek cut Scott short, not wanting to hear the intimate details of what exactly the Nogitsune knew about Stiles. Derek only had a small glimpse of what went on inside Stiles’ head before- he could only imagine what terrible things a demon spirit could do to him and his friends with it. Talk about strife and pain.

“Essentially, yes.” Scott nodded gravely. “Something that looked like Stiles ordered the Oni to kill us, but only effectively got Allison- and Aiden.”

“And then what happened?” Derek asked, begging to be told as much information as he was allowed to be given. Derek felt only one strong emotion during Scott’s story that seemed to be a cross between curiosity and desperation; how could Derek just _leave_ like that? Derek felt in some part of him, that this was completely his fault. Like he could’ve done something to help Stiles with his constant anxiety, hyper-vigilance, night terrors, struggles with reality- anything. Derek just wished he was in Beacon Hills to at least watch over Stiles. But now it was too late. The worst had happened, and now all Derek could do was possibly help pick up the pieces.

“Nothing.” Scott shrugged, sounding pained instead of coy. “Literally nothing. Since we, well, _thought_ we defeated the Nogitsune, Stiles has stopped responding to us, Isaac and Mr. Argent are still in France- there hasn’t even been a funeral yet… None of us can do it. So we’re just doing _nothing_ now. Because our fight doesn’t seem to be over yet.”

“Sometimes nothing is the best thing that you can be doing.” Derek offered, patting Scott’s arm. Derek wasn’t even sure if that was the correct advice to give, he just knew that Scottneededto be told he was doing the right thing. Who was Derek to tell Stiles’ best friend that he wasn’t doing enough to help when he didn’t know the full situation himself? Maybe they just had to wait for Stiles to come around and realize the world outside his mental prison. “It’s the best thing you can do right now.”

“But, it’s not.” Scott sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Doing nothing is not bringing my best friend back… We can’t keep doing _nothing_.” Scott muttered the last bit under his breath, forgetting Derek had the hearing ability to pick up on it anyway.

Scott had a point; if Derek could come back from visiting foreign countries, and the pack- Scott’s strong, unstoppable, defeat a freaking _Nogitsune_ pack- was still struggling with the same problems, they obviously weren’t doing enough- or just needed a little more guidance. Or man power.

“What do you want to do?” Derek asked, leaving it entirely up to Scott. “I can start research, we can call someone-”

“No. No more research, no more calling, Stiles isn’t sick.” Scott said automatically, his hands curling into fists and slowly flexing back out and splaying on the table. “We’ve done enough research on him… Far too much.”

“Maybe you need another set of eyes-”

“That’s what Malia said and then she went too far and freaked him out and Stiles’ didn’t talk to us for a _whole week_!” Scott cried, suddenly digging his claws into the table top and forcing himself to take a deep breath. “He barely trusts reality anymore, Derek. He’s lost in there and we barely see him, the _real_ him anymore. I don’t want to scare him; I want him to feel safe around us.” Scott had his head in his hands and was no longer looking at Derek. He knew how to take a hint; Scott didn’t want Derek coming in and doing _too_ much. He just wanted _something_ done, and Derek could see how much it pained Scott that all his ideas and usual attempts at crime solving weren’t working out as they had before- usually they had Stiles as their brain power. Now, they had nothing.

“Stiles didn’t _talk_ to you for a week?” Derek repeated slowly, his voice light and lifting the serious air from the dining room.

“You know what I mean.” Scott said, laughing softly as he playfully glared at Derek. “He locked himself in his room for an entire week and came out ten pounds lighter with an even looser grip on the world around him.”

Derek didn’t want to imagine Stiles any lighter, any less _there_ \- physically or mentally. It always worried Derek that Stiles would go along with Scott’s brilliant ‘almost get the whole pack killed even though two of them were humans with no training, supernatural powers, or skills applicable for this line of work, but they were the brains to the operation so they  _had_  to be there, and apparently couldn’t just use a cell phone or something for this’ plans, but now Derek was imagining a _thinner_ Stiles in harm’s way, fighting along side healable werewolves and highly skilled fighters- and the thought was _terrifying._

Stiles' size aside, what worried Derek more was Stiles’ ability to put everyone first and put his life in danger for whatever enemy they were fighting. Stiles had the ability to step in front of death, stare down its barrel, and tell it to shoot. Stiles had moments and flashes of faith when death didn’t bother him- didn’t _scare_ him- and now Stiles was ten pounds lighter with no decipher key to tell him what was real and what wasn’t. Derek didn’t want to know what his mind was doing to him; while he might be silent on the outside, his brain could be screaming, and Stiles was just too lost to find his own voice and finally scream back. After all, that’s how Stiles dealt with things: talking; that night in the kitchen at Scott’s house, after he and Derek had accidentally made a small notion towards being interested in one another, Stiles began talking. He started rambling and sputtering and fumbling and searching for words that were nowhere close to the correct words he desired. Stiles was a talker, whether or not the speaking was helpful or detrimental to his emotional healing process, he did it. And now Stiles didn’t have that crutch. He didn’t have the crutch of blocking out his thoughts with senseless chatter. Stiles was stuck with his thoughts and was the only one who could hear, see, and think about them. He was all alone with no one to help him find his way out. At least, not yet.

“What did you do?” Derek asked, carefully approaching the subject but still as determined as ever. “What _have_ you been doing? What is your tactic? What is your _something_ , Scott?” Derek was suddenly not interested in ‘nothing’, he had to do something. He had to help Stiles.

“Deaton calls it Reaching.” Scott sighed, resting his head on his hand.

“ _What_ is called Reaching?” Derek asked. He might have known and trusted Deaton for a few years, but whenever something had a title, it meant bad things.

“He means reaching _him_. We’re supposed to find what makes him human- find certain emotions- and try and bring him back into himself… And away from whatever _Nogitsune_ that might be left in there.” Scott explained. “Deaton says positive human contact, friendly conversation, laughter- if you can get him to even smile- feel affection, joy, _anger_ even. We’re just looking for something that will get him to be Stiles again.”

“Is that why everyone keeps touching Stiles?” Derek hadn’t meant to ask the question and almost belittle the entire speech Scott had made, growing teary eyed the whole way; it was just the first one that came to mind. It was the first puzzle piece.

“Yeah. It’s why we are all so _close_ with Stiles nowadays.” Scott nodded, as if it was a reasonable question. “We’re hoping that that _one time_ we touch his shoulder or hold his hand is the time we'll reach him.” Scott sounded like he had been holding onto that mentality for a bit longer than it was proving to be effective.

“That sounds like a good plan, Scott.” Derek said, smiling at him briefly. Before Scott could even reply to Derek, there was a harsh knock on the front door. The conversation broke off and the air snapped into silence as the frantic knock rattled the door frame.

“I wonder who that could be.” Scott breathed, noting how it was almost two in the morning. Derek stood but still remained in the dining room and waited for Scott to signal him or reveal who it was standing on the porch. Derek tried to see if he could recognize the heartbeat pattern, but he couldn’t hear it over Scott’s. Derek heard the door unlock and swing open, and then heard Scott’s heartbeat fall back down to its normal pulse.

“Scott?” Derek called, not sure if it was Melissa at the door or just Scott's heartbeat dropping from him _dropping dead_.

“False alarm, Derek.” Scott said, walking around the corner holding someone's hand. “It’s just Stiles.”

Now that Derek didn’t have the over stimulation of four other people talking to him at once, he got the closer look that wasn't granted at the coffee shop. Stiles definitely looked thinner than Derek remembered. Stiles’ cheekbones were poking out and making his entire face look hallowed and haggard; his hair was messy and looked like it had been pulled in twenty different directions by the shaking, bony hands hanging by his sides. He looked like he wasn’t even present or part of the same moment as Scott and Derek, even though Stiles had gotten there on his own and had driven himself, making it obvious he remembered directions and addresses. His eyes were looking around the room, but never seeming to fixate on anything, like a curious set of eyes would. They were constantly trying to avoid the two other sets of eyes in the room. Derek could hear his heartbeat pounding and it nearly deafened him as he stepped closer to get a better look at the apparent _Stiles_ that was in front of him.

“Stiles? What’s wrong?” Derek asked, ducking his head in hopes of catching the boy’s eyes. “Scott, what’s wrong with him? His heart. It’s racing.”

“Yeah… It is.” Scott muttered quickly, taking a listen for himself. “Stiles? What’s happening, man? What’s the matter? Why are you so nervous?” Scott asked, holding the sides of Stiles’ face to try and get him to non-verbally respond. Stiles remained still, the only movement coming from his involuntary swaying and shaking as his breathing grew heavier and heartbeat continued to balance on the line of Cardiac Arrest. He didn’t even acknowledge that Scott was there. “Stiles. Answer me. What’s wrong.”

“Scott, he can’t _answer you_.” Derek said roughly, trying to ease the situation even the tiniest bit; he didn't want Scott to start demanding things he couldn't get.

“No. T-That’s not what I mean. I don’t want words, I want him to- Stiles! _Look at me_.” Scott said, gripping his shoulders and shaking him once in a harsh jostling movement. “He’s not responding.” Scott muttered to himself as he released Stiles' shoulders and went back to holding the sides of his face. Derek wasn’t sure what that meant, but he was more than positive it wasn't a result they were hoping for.

“Scott? What’s going on?” Derek wanted to help, but as soon as he opened his mouth Scott loudly shushed him and immediately turned back to Stiles and held his face closer to his own.

“Stiles? Hey, you in there, Stiles? It’s Scott. I just want to talk to you.” Scott said sweetly, almost like he was talking to a five year old. “What ever is freaking you out can’t hurt you, Stiles. It’s all in your head. Besides, you have an alpha right in front of you, remember? I can fight anything off for you. I did it once, I’ll do it again.” Derek saw Scott flash his eyes at Stiles and smile brightly, hoping to cause the heart bouncing around in Stiles’ rib cage to calm finally.

It took only a few more seconds of Scott’s infant-like reassurance to get Stiles’ heart rate to slow down and almost return to a normal, rhythmic beat. His eyes shot up from the floor and locked onto Scott’s- they looked alert and curious. Immediately, Scott’s tensed body language went slack and he let out a quick sigh of relief as he hugged Stiles, patting him on the back.

“You’re back!” He said happily, patting Stiles on the back.

“He’s back?” Derek echoed, finding the phasing overflowing with false hope. “As in, _back_ back?”

“No. Definitely not.” Scott laughed, watching his friend’s eyes slowly lose focus and leave the face of his best friend and drift elsewhere in the room. “Sometimes, after we talk him out of a panic attack, he has this _moment_ of being back. It’s like, he finally gets his head above water, and he knows it- he recognizes us and knows where he is- but then is pulled back down a second later and returns to being in this ocean where _none_ of us can swim.”

Derek watched as Stiles’ shoulders slumped and face relaxed into a half-conscious stare into the empty space in front of him, one that seemed to stretch on much farther than the space in front of everything else. Derek didn’t want to imagine what Stiles’ world looked like through his eyes; what dark, twisted lens his mind was making him look through. If his panic attack was any indication, it most definitely wasn’t very calming to his nerves or anxious tendencies. Stiles must have been constantly over stimulated, over worked, and exhausted every hour that dragged by, trapped in his inescapable prison- As if his hollow face and skeleton like appearance didn’t already give that away.

“Stiles? Why don’t you go up to the guest room and get some sleep?” Scott said to Stiles, rubbing the sides of his biceps and grinning at him stupidly. “I’ll be on Stiles Duty tonight. How does that sound?”

“Stiles Duty?” Derek said begrudgingly as Stiles shuffled away, his legs noticeably quaking with each step. “Please tell me that’s a joke.”

“One of us is always with him, every second of every day. Usually, it’s his dad or me. Other times Lydia if she can nonchalantly explain to her mom why she needs to watch her mute friend for a couple hours in the middle of the night. Or it’s all of us. We have pack sleepovers and everyone sleeps by a door or window and makes sure that he doesn’t have a nightmare or sleepwalk out of the house.” Scott had the habit of mentioning important details quickly, and with no real indication of how severe the situation actually was- everything sounded like it was nothing to worry about. Even though every sensor in Derek’s brain was firing, trying to piece together all the information being casually thrown at him about Stiles’ derailing mental status. Derek kept his irritation capped and remained composed as he followed Scott up the stairs.

“If all that stuff happens, how can you watch him all by yourself?” Derek asked. “I mean, do you need me to stay? I _just_ moved back in. I don’t have a schedule of any kind.”

“It’s okay. I’ll be okay.” Scott assured Derek, almost rolling his eyes at Derek’s offer to help. “Stiles isn’t _that_ much of a handful.”

Derek was about to sarcastically agree with Scott, saying how he was well aware of how _little_ of a handful he was; how when Stiles used to grow playfully irritated with him and try to tackle Derek, Derek only needed one hand to hold him back- Derek knowing Stiles was absolutely trying his best. But Derek kept to himself, knowing that mentioning the weak state Stiles was in was pretty insensitive. Derek remained quiet and leaned against Scott’s door way, half as a polite way of not invading Scott’s personal space and half as a way to keep an eye and ear out for Stiles who had disappeared down the hallway.

“You okay if I head out then?” Derek asked, nodding towards the stairs. “I’ve been in your hair long enough.” Derek trailed off and didn’t hear Scott’s response as Stiles appeared at the end of the hallway again, slowly shuffling towards them, his head down and hands wringing in front of him. Derek's focus returned to find Scott still talking. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I said I can handle him. Go home. Move yourself into your loft, Derek. We’ve got this- well, at least partially got this taken care of.” Scott sat on the edge of his bed as he kicked off his shoes and nodded at Derek, assuring him he could leave. Assuring him he could leave Stiles alone, even though with the new information, nothing seemed scarier to Derek. Especially when Stiles was still mindlessly wandering the hallway, creeping towards them.

“Stiles?” Derek muttered, peering back over his shoulder at him. “You okay?” It was possibly the stupidest question Derek had ever asked, but he wasn’t sure else he _could_ ask. It wasn’t like Stiles knew what was going on anyway- but that was also inferring Stiles could even answer Derek’s question.

“What is he doing? Is he wandering?” Scott asked, trying to crane his neck and see where Stiles was in the hall. “Stiles? What’s wrong? Can’t sleep?”

There was that patronizing child-like voice again. Derek wondered if everyone addressed him like that; like there wasn’t even a person behind that blank stare. _Their_ person. Stiles stopped in front of Scott’s door, his hands still fidgeting in front of him and eyes set on the floor. Scott called Stiles' name again and slowly got him to lift his head, and line of vision, to Scott looking at him with furrowed eyebrows and head cocked.

“Want to sleep in here? I have your pillow right here- You can sleep here, Stiles.” Derek knew his welcome was very worn out at that moment, but he couldn’t help but watch the interaction between Scott and Stiles, especially when Stiles timidly shuffled into Scott’s room and crawled onto his bed, his head flopping on the pillow Scott had produced for him. Derek expected Scott to say some sappy choice words to his best friend before standing from his bed and walking away, but that was most definitely _not_ what Scott did. While Derek was casually taking his sweet ass time leaving, he watched as Scott lay down next to Stiles on top of his comforter, his arm loosely wrapped around Stiles shoulders, pulling him close.

At first, Derek wanted to be jealous- Scott actually being close enough to Stiles and being allowed, in his mute state, to touch him- but then Derek took notice to the way Scott was breathing and laying unnaturally still while Stiles was practically curled into the fetal position against Scott’s side, his eyes darting around and body suddenly twitching as he remained in his dream world.

There was nothing to be jealous about; Stiles was lost in his mind as it was, and now he was being submerged in his own conjured nightmare. If Scott made that part of Stiles’ brain at ease, then Derek would let him have it. Derek would let Scott be that person in Stiles’ life that was his anchor, the one that made him feel safe. Part of Derek wished it was him, wrapping his arms around Stiles and feeling his heartbeat steady out as it pulsed against his chest, making sure that Stiles was safely tucked into his side before allowing himself to even humor the idea of drifting off to sleep. Derek wished it was him. But he was fine with Scott. He was just happy that Stiles was safe.

Well, at least that’s what Derek told himself the whole night he spent lying in his bed, staring up at his ceiling, his mind in a busy fog of confusion, worry, and jealousy.

It wasn’t until Derek awoke the next morning that he even knew he had fallen asleep. His eyes blinked open to find his loft- his _home_ \- surrounding him. He was actually back in Beacon Hills. He hadn’t dreamed that. Derek rolled over and found his phone sitting on the other pillow, lighting up with incoming messages from Scott.

_Pack is meeting at the park in an hour._

_I have Stiles._

_He slept through the night. Didn’t move an inch._

_No nightmares._

Oh. And apparently Derek didn’t dream _that_ either.

Stiles was most definitely not in the condition he was in when Derek left with Cora. Derek felt his stomach sink as he climbed out of bed, realizing what his new reality would be every time he woke up. It twisted some part inside Derek to know that the rest of the pack had been coming to this realization for _months_ and he was only now feeling their pain. He continued his morning routine and didn’t let himself stop for one second to dwell on the new found lump in his throat. He was up and ready to start searching for answers. Well, at least those not supplied by a far too naïve teenage alpha with enough platonic affection to smother a small town. He had to hear it from someone who knew what it was like to have that tiny voice in the back of your mind get louder, constantly chattering and _never_ taking a moment to shut up or even give you a fighting chance to stand your ground and find a way to censor the noise- someone who knew what hell Stiles might be going through. Someone to give Derek a little perspective and hopefully a little direction on the situation.

Derek nervously knocked on the grand oak door, shuffling his feet as he heard quick footsteps hurry to the door before tugging it open smoothly. Derek was only slightly surprised to see a tall, thin brunette woman answer the door, her smile warm and maternal

“Mrs. Martin? Hi.” Derek said, cutting to the chase and avoiding her asking any questions that involved him explaining why he was there or giving her his name. “I’m here to see Lydia, if that’s okay. It’s important.”

“O-Of course! Please, come in. She’s upstairs- _LYDIA_ _!_ A- A _friend_ is here to see you.” Derek listened for Lydia upstairs, her heartbeat and casual shuffling to get to the door. He expected a normal, possibly confused greeting from Lydia, but before Derek could even step both feet inside the foyer, he heard Lydia’s pounding footsteps carrying her down the hallway and clumsily down the stairs, the entire time muttering to herself.

“Stiles. Please don’t be Stiles. Please let him be okay. Don’t be- Derek?” Her bare feet squeaked on the wood floor as she came to an abrupt stop, sounding alarmed, confused, and _relieved_ that Derek was the one standing in her foyer. “What’s wrong, Derek? What do you need?” Lydia’s voice was strained, emphasizing to anyone in the know what _exactly_ she was asking for- who she was asking about.

“I’m just here to ask you some things, just a little catching up.” Derek flashed Lydia his best ‘ _please don’t make me sound any more friendly and sweet, this is my limit of asking politely in a situation where all I want is answers. Answers about that stupid boy that wanted to let me die on multiple occasions but now has my heart firmly in the grip of one of those spindly hands of his’._

“Sure. Come upstairs with me, I’m still getting ready.” She grinned insincerely, waving him after her. Apparently Lydia’s banshee powers extended to forced facial expressions. Derek allowed his face to show genuine gratitude as he stepped towards Lydia, following her towards her room. They passed her mother, who followed them curiously with her eyes.

“If you two need me, I’ll be right here. In my office. In that room directly underneath Lydia’s bedroom… Listening.”

It wasn’t until then that Derek realized that Lydia was in a tank top and sleeping shorts, no shoes, with her hair pulled into a messy bun. A state someone as prideful and in control as Lydia _never_ let anyone see. Derek made sure to hover in Lydia’s door frame for a second longer than needed, letting her realize that he was a grown man, coming into her room, to ask about a very dear friend of hers and possibly sound completely in love without even trying. She didn’t stop him.

“What do you want to know?” Lydia asked plainly, sitting at her vanity table and applying concealer skillfully, glancing at Derek through the reflection in her mirror. “You obviously came to talk about Stiles, so what’s the question?”

“I had a question about these bouts of ‘coming back’; are they really him _coming back_ or is it a ploy or just us being hopeful? Because I was kind of thinking about it and maybe-”

“Stop.” Lydia said, swiveling around in her chair and glaring at Derek. “I see what you are trying to do, and I don’t like it.”

“W-What am I doing?” Derek asked, taken aback by the fierceness coming from the petite seventeen year old girl in front of him.

“You are marching back from god knows where, trying to change things up and be _the alpha_ again.”

“What? Lydia, no. That is the farthest thing from what I’m trying to do.” Derek rebutted. “Believe me. Spending time with my sister has actually kind of softened me up a bit, I hate to admit.” That _and_ the fact that the object of Derek’s affections was currently in danger of becoming a permanent basket case. “I’m just here to help.”

“Then stop helping.” Lydia said, contradicting Scott’s speech from the night before. “Stop coming in here and trying to _do something_.” She watched as Derek’s face openly contorted to show his utter confusion. Talk about mixed signals. She placed her concealer back on her table before turning back to Derek, her lips pursed and posture poised. “Listen, as far as I’m concerned, you’re still new around here. I don’t care if you’ve lived here your whole life and know practically everything there is to know about a lot of supernatural things. But there _are_ things that you don’t know about, Derek, believe it or not, and those include things involving the human experience. Which you don’t know about, or possibly aren’t considering because you have tough, made-of-steel werewolf feelings that aren’t affected by heartbreak and hopelessness.”

“Lydia, what are you talking about?” Derek usually prided himself on being able to connect with human emotions and human issues that he normally wouldn’t encounter, but at the moment, nothing she was saying was making any sense. “I know what _both_ of those things feel like.” Derek had felt both of them in the past twenty-four hours.

“Do you, Derek? Do you know what it’s like to look at someone and _only_ feel that?” She spat, her normally sickly sweet voice growing a bite and causing Derek to rethink his answer of ‘Actually, yes. I do, for your information. His name is Stiles’.

“No. I don’t.” Derek muttered, letting Lydia take him where ever it was the conversation needed to go. Lydia might involuntarily start answering all his questions.

“Then _stop_ helping.” Lydia said, giving Derek a sweetly venomous smile before whipping her hair back around as she turned.

“But can I ask why?” Derek asked timidly, stepping towards Lydia’s vanity table and leaning against the wall beside it instead of hovering by the door.

“Because every time we try and do something- start over, do research, get fresh eyes, do _anything_ \- we end up failing and just reminding ourselves that we are completely and utterly _hopeless_. Stiles is _stuck_ in there, in his own mind, and we have no idea how to get him back. Scott was supposed to pull him out with his life-long friendship and loyalty- we've tried **that** emotion- and Malia was supposed to harp on Stiles’ inability to turn down a pretty girl since she has a little thing for him, and any attempt Kira made was meant to try and pry open Stiles’ warm heart and how he let’s people in the pack and into the family easily. But then, after all them, there was me and _my_ _attempts_. Stiles has had a crush on me for a decade. There isn’t an emotion Stiles hasn’t felt towards me. I’m his center. And every attempt I made to get him to come back has _failed_. We’ve all tried _everything_. We have done everything we can for Stiles, and it is just not working. And we are reminded every time we see him, think about him, hear news about him. And each time, we just grow more hopeless about helping him in time. We all know we won’t. We all know that we won’t reach him in time and he’ll go back to Eichen House and they’ll perform lobotomies and shock treatment and god knows what to him and _kill_ our chances- and Stiles! So please. _Stop_ trying to help. Just be like everyone else and just, hold his hand or something. Please, Derek.” Lydia was in tears by the time she had finished her rant, her face falling as she looked down at her shaking hands and took a deep breath.

“Hold his hand? I can do that.” Derek whispered, touching her shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’ll do whatever you need me to do. Or whatever you need me to _not_ do.”

Lydia sniffled and wiped her tears away swiftly with her thumb. “I know you care about Stiles, but… But now would be a good time to stop. Right about now is when things start to hurt.”

Derek wanted to argue with Lydia and tell her that he wasn’t just going to let Stiles go like _that_ \- in the blink of an eye, years of suppressed endearment and fascination with the lanky human best friend of Peter’s beta just _gone_. Derek had a problem letting things go as it was; it became a million times harder once it involved Stiles. Derek wanted to start an argument. He wanted to tell her no, but Derek saw something different in Lydia. Usually she was the all knowing, scary intelligent, and always intuitive Lydia Martin, but the girl that was in front of Derek was still all of these things, but for the first time, she was also _broken_.

Her face exposed the hours she had spent fretting over the welfare of the same boy Derek had been daydreaming about while hiking the Andes mountains. Derek saw how much she had been hurt by her powers for once falling silent and telling her nothing. Derek saw everything she was trying to protect him from.

“Finish getting ready. I’ll drive you to the pack thing at the park. I’ll take you to see Stiles.” Derek sighed, patting her carefully on the hand before he pushed himself off the wall and went into the hallway, closing the door behind him.

Fifteen minutes later, Lydia came out of her room, shoulders back and chin up, eye makeup impeccable, and four inches taller in a set of red pumps to match the roses on her black cinched waist sundress. It was obvious she didn’t want to talk about their previous conversation any longer, and Derek could accept that. He could respect a little self preservation.

Even though Lydia wasn’t _verbally_ reinforcing the conversation she and Derek had just shared, her actions were; the minute they pulled up to the park, she was climbing out of Derek’s car, racing towards the cluster of teenagers sprawled out on a blanket, and scooping Stiles into her arms and kissing him on the cheek furiously.

Derek wanted to remind Lydia that ‘things would only start to hurt’ as to protect her from heartbreak when Stiles would barely respond to her close proximity. Derek stepped towards the blanket and opened his mouth to interject when he realized Lydia wasn’t giving Stiles welcoming, happy-to-see-you, greeting kisses. She was kissing him goodbye.


	3. Surprise The Sheriff

The park Scott had called the pack meeting to was remote and peaceful, which made sense considering they had an unpredictably nervous and still slightly _possessed_ teenage boy standing in the short, trimmed grass, staring up at passing birds, blissfully unaware of everyone and everything. Derek was hoping being outdoors and being with nature and the outside elements would heal Stiles in someway- even if it was just for a second. Even if it meant Stiles just felt  _at ease_ _from whatever was in his head_  for the hour the pack spent there. It was all Derek could wish for since there didn’t seem to be answers to suggest other ways of soothing him- until whoever was upstairs decided to throw terrifying visions in front of him, where no one could see them but him.

“He seems to really like it out here.” Derek noted to Scott, who was giving napkins and paper plates to the other pack members around them. “Does being outside do something for him- for us?” Derek was praying that Scott had forgotten information from Deaton about the therapeutic properties of fresh air in relation to demonic possession.

“Not sure.” Scott shrugged, handing out sandwich triangles. “I’m hoping it does. Especially here.” Well, there goes that hope.

“What’s so special about this place?” Derek asked, genuinely curious; he almost got lost twice on his drive over with Lydia. The park was beautiful, but it was definitely secluded. Derek wasn’t sure what could be the thought process behind bringing Stiles to a quiet park over run by wildflowers and Saucer Magnolia trees if they weren’t sure what it would do to him. “Does the silence make things easier for him? Do things  _quiet down_ , you know, internally?”

“Also not sure about that one.” Scott replied, seemingly unbothered by the line of questioning he had no answers to. “All I know is that Stiles likes it here- he always has.”

“How do you know that?” Derek hadn’t seen Stiles show any form of joy or emotions reflecting any form of excitement in the few short hours he had spent with him. He wasn’t sure how Scott would know that, despite becoming a mind reader.

“Stiles’ mom used to bring him here a lot when he was a kid- my mom and his mom used to take us here when our dads were out at work… or drinking.” Scott muttered, taking an extended amount of time aligning his napkin with the side of his plate. “Stiles and I grew up here. I just thought bringing him here would be like bringing him home.”

Derek looked over at Stiles again and watched him sway in the breeze, his arms out and basking in the sunlight shining down on him. “I think you might be right.” Derek said quietly, nodding to Scott.

“He looks so peaceful.” Malia said absently, staring at Stiles and smiling to herself. So maybe Lydia wasn’t lying. Malia  _definitely_  had a thing for Stiles. What was it with the Hale family and helplessly fawning over Stiles Stilinski. “I wish he could stay like that.”

“We all do.” Lydia agreed with a sigh. She watched Stiles with a different reflection in her eyes than Malia; Malia was taking in every one of Stiles' movements with optimism, hope, and affection while Lydia looked like every deep breath Stiles took, lifting his chest and making him move in a fluid motion- no shaking or shivering- was killing him. And as far as Lydia knew, it just might be.

The entire group retired from quiet chit-chat to watch Stiles roam among the swaying grass, for once relaxed and not constantly jittery and shaking. Kira cooed quietly to herself and agreed with Malia’s earlier statement and smiled at him, Lydia was watching with a pained expression on her face, and Scott was barely watching at all- he was too busy trying to get to his feet.

“Where are you going, Scott?” Derek called, watching Scott slowly walk towards Stiles, who was admiring the flowers on a nearby tree. “Scott!”

“His heartbeat… It’s getting faster.” Scott muttered not even sure of his observation, waving Derek back as he went to stand and follow Stiles. “Let me handle this.”

Derek watched as Scott went up behind Stiles and wrapped his arm around his shoulders, asking him what he was doing while acting overly pleasant and bumping his shoulder into Stiles’. As expected, Stiles held out a flower instead of a verbal response. Scott took it and grinned at Stiles, tucking it behind his ear without a second thought. Scott thanked Stiles for his gift and then asked him again what he was doing- why wasn’t he picnicking with them. Stiles never averted his eyes from the blossoms in front of him and reached up, pulled another flower from the tree’s branches, and held it out to Scott as an answer. Derek could see the hesitation on Scott’s face as he plucked the flower from Stiles’ hand, placing it carefully in his open palm. Scott didn’t let his smile falter as he curiously watched Stiles reach up and run his fingers over the flower petals, picking a particularly pink flower and handing it off to Scott absently as he went for the next one, picking one flower blossom after another until Scott had a small, stem-less bouquet in his hands.

“What do you want me to do with these, Stiles? I can only put one behind each ear.” Scott laughed quietly, his eyes searching Stiles, obviously both confused and concerned about his actions. “Are these for the pack?” Stiles didn’t answer, he simply took a flower from Scott’s hand and tucked it behind his own ear before walking away, wandering around the park again.

Scott came shuffling back to the pack, both Derek and Malia waiting and attentive- having heard Scott’s conversation with Stiles- while Lydia and Kira stared curiously at the abundance of flowers Scott placed on the ground in the middle of their circle. Lydia immediately broke into a grin, taking one from the pile.

“I  _love_  Saucer Magnolia flowers! I always thought they were so beautiful when they blossomed.” She rearranged the petals carefully before following Scott’s lead and placing it behind her ear. Derek smiled briefly at the joy on Lydia’s face and looked back over at Stiles, wondering if he had done it on purpose, or it was just some absent part of his brain, finding something to focus on to keep his anxiety at bay in an environment weighed down by emotional ties.

He didn’t seem to be the only one with this question; Malia was rolling the flower around between her thumb and forefinger, spinning it, watching Stiles with furrowed eyebrows and glowing eyes. Derek expected Malia to say something foreboding and ominous, but instead her glowing eyes dimmed and she broke into a smile, getting to her feet and racing after Stiles.

Lydia called after her shortly, telling her to ‘not have a childish crush- this is demonic spirit possession’ but eventually stopped when Malia caught up to Stiles and was putting her own flower behind Stiles’ other ear and cupping his face, completely grinning at his stillness; he didn’t pull away or panic at the touch. He stood with her, hands by his sides, completely composed and somewhat  _alert_  to the situation. It was unlike anything Derek had seen or heard Stiles doing as of late. Something was different. Derek wasn’t sure what, but there was something. Maybe something in  _Malia_.

“I feel bad for Malia.” Kira muttered to Lydia, taking a sip of her water and hiding her mouth behind the bottle- as if that would stop the super hearing of the two werewolves around her. “I can’t imagine liking someone who barely knows you exist- who barely even exists themselves.”

“What makes you say that?” Lydia asked, not because she didn’t grasp the idea, but because she was curious as to why Kira was considering Malia’s feelings suddenly.

“She met Stiles  _right_  before he got fully possessed and obviously liked him- he was the first guy to accept her, even though she was a coyote for how many years- and then, well, he gets possessed and starts absolute _bedlam_ and almost kills her. And then, once he’s freed from his possession, he turns into  _that_ … I know I’d feel lost and hopeless not knowing whether he’d come back, whether to move on or not…”

“What do you mean, move on?” Derek cut in, not thinking. “Why would she have to move on?” He obviously wasn’t asking for Malia’s benefit.

“Stiles might not come back the person he was, if he comes back at all.” Kira said bluntly, not noticing the way Lydia bit her bottom lip and looked away, her eyes becoming glassy. Obviously the truth still hurt, no matter how much they said it. “And if anyone wants Stiles to come back, it’s Malia.”

“What makes you say that?” Derek asked, slightly taken aback by the amount of credit and momentum Malia was gaining in their short conversation.

“Malia met Stiles in Eichen House.” Scott said shortly, not completely answering Derek’s question. “They were in there together.”

“If anyone knows what Stiles has been through in there, it’s Malia.” Lydia cut in, supplying the information Scott was absently leaving out. “If Stiles doesn’t come through this, that’s exactly where he’s going back… Which she most definitely doesn’t want.”

Derek turned to look at Malia again, optimistically interacting with Stiles and smiling and bouncing around even though he didn’t verbally or physically respond once to her. She saw him not panicking or crying or shaking and was just absolutely  _elated_. This is what it had come to already apparently.

“Stiles! Come _on_! Let’s go sit down! We can pick wild flowers later. Let’s eat something first!” Malia laughed, tugging Stiles along and practically dragging him over to their circle. She forced him into the empty spot in the circle between Lydia and Scott, before taking her seat between Lydia and Kira.

Derek sat across from Stiles in the circle, and subtly studied Stiles as he sat slouched next to Scott, leaning into him slightly. Stiles seemed composed and well put together on the surface, but as Derek took notice to his body language, everything seemed overly _rehearsed;_ his arm movements were far too smooth and confident. But his eye movement was incredibly rapid and erratic, like he was watching something in front of him change and warp dramatically and frantically. There was something about this park that was changing Stiles, making him different, hopefully stronger. More in control.

Derek wanted to say something to possibly find out the source or cause of Stiles’ change in behavior, but as he opened his mouth, he noticed Lydia staring at him- and him only. Derek immediately closed his mouth and receded to the safe zone of _not_ putting his nose where it didn’t belong and making things worse for a group of people that were obviously ignoring their problems by being naïve and acting like they didn’t even happen in the first place. Derek was an unwanted slap of reality. He knew when to take a hint and shut the fuck up; he didn’t know anything and was just on hyper alert for anything that resembled a clue or answer. He probably wasn’t helping anyone.

“We should go see his dad!” Malia chirped, sitting up straighter and clapping her hands. “Sheriff would love to see Stiles like this! We’ve gotta show him!”

“Malia, I don’t know if that’s such a good idea…” Lydia mumbled, looking at Derek for a moment and mentally registering Derek’s accidentally-too-long staring at Stiles as well as Malia’s request of removing Stiles from his environment to bring him to a decidedly less nostalgic one. She remained silent, fiddling with the flower behind her ear.

“Stiles? Want to go visit your dad?” Scott asked, clapping Stiles on the back and jostling him playfully. Stiles made no motion to answer, his eyes still focused on the space in front of him. “Great! We’ll all go! Pack trip!” Scott didn’t even ask the rest of the group what they thought before he started hoisting Stiles to his feet and motioning everyone to follow him.

Derek ended up driving Malia and Lydia to the Sheriff’s station while Kira drove Scott and Stiles. Derek was decidedly not experienced enough to have Stiles in the car with him, but instead two teenage girls each trying- or has tried previously- to get into the pants of the boy Derek currently was harboring feelings for. Seemed like the perfect conversation starter. One Derek didn't  _dare_  use. 

“How’s his dad handling all of this?” Derek asked, following Kira’s car through the empty intersection. “I mean, is he  _aware_  of everything?”

“We eventually had to catch him up on the natural and supernatural, if that’s what you’re asking.” Lydia said. “His dad is fully aware of why his son is now a complete unresponsive shell of a teenage boy.”

“Oh.” Derek muttered. “That’s good.” If Derek was the Sheriff, he wouldn’t know how to move on and live everyday with his possessed son sleeping just down the hall. Sure, Derek’s entire family had burned to death, but somehow what Stiles’ father was experiencing was so much worse. Derek’s family had been taken from him in a flash with no actual realization of the new reality- unless it was in sudden bouts of grief and loneliness. But the Sheriff had to watch Stiles lose control and become someone he wasn’t, had to watch someone take over his son without being able to do anything to help. That was the most awful thing any father could go through, and all Derek said was _that’s good_.

“You should tell him that.” Lydia grumbled, unbuckling her seat belt as Derek pulled into the parking lot of the Sheriff’s station. “The Sheriff would _love_  for things to be ‘good’.”

Derek tried to defend his comment but both girls were out of his car and walking towards the other car parked three spots to their left before Derek could even open his mouth. Derek rested his head against the steering wheel and sighed heavily, reminding himself of the group he was dealing with.

He was with a group of teenagers where their best friend, and practical  _glue_  of the group, was dying in front of them. He was withering away to nothing and losing every part of him that made unique and beloved by his friends. Their best friend was becoming a stranger and Derek just made a sarcastic comment due to his  _own_  discomfort with the conversation. Nice job, jackass.

Stiles was being coaxed out of the car slowly by the time Derek came over, leading the charge and holding the door for them as Malia tugged Stiles past the front lobby desk and towards the Sheriff's office. Derek trailed behind as the last member, careful to not commit any more faux pas while he was in ear shot of Stiles’ father. Not that his father could hear him; he was already being told where to stick it by a tall, burly man in gray scrubs.

“Your son is  _dangerous_ , Stilinski. I got ten calls last night  _alone_ _from the neighborhood_  about your goddamn kid. He’s out, driving around at all hours of the night- He could have hit someone! God knows he isn’t mentally capable of driving an actual couple ton vehicle-”

“My son is not dangerous! And he’s not a vegetable either. He is just suffering a little post-traumatic stress. There’s nothing that I can’t handle.” Sheriff challenged, standing his ground and subconsciously putting his hands on his hips and running the tips of his fingers over the gun sitting in the holster on his left side.

“Oh god. Not Brunski.” Scott muttered, screeching the group to a halt and staring at the two men through the glass window.

“Do we know him?” Derek asked cautiously, deeming it a fair question since he had to know who he was dealing with.

“He works at Eichen House.” Lydia replied numbly, gripping Stiles’ hand and pulling him closer to her body. Stiles allowed Lydia to tip his center of gravity and leaned into her absent-mindedly.

“He  _personally_  has it out for Stiles.” Malia growled, her eyes focusing on Brunski. “He wants to see him locked away in the rubber rooms, where no one will ever see him again; the man’s a maniac.”

“And what do we do with him?” Derek prompted, stepping forward towards Scott and bracing for instructions.

“Get Stiles away.” Scott said, pointing Lydia over to the line of chairs long the wall. “Don’t let him see.” Derek wasn’t sure if he meant Brunski seeing Stiles or Stiles seeing Brunski- either one sounded like it wouldn’t end well.

“I should just take your son back to Eichen House with me the next time I see him! This is outrageous, Stilinksi. You can’t keep this up.” He shouted, sounding very eager to achieve his promise. “There is more than enough reason to get him committed.”

“Enough!” Scott shouted, storming up and throwing the door open. Both men stopped and whipped their heads around to stare at Scott, who was practically vibrating in the doorway. “That’s enough! Get out of his office!”

“Well, look at who we have here.” Brunski sneered. “You stupid kids think you can solve  _anything_  with friendship and teamwork and all this complete  _bullshit-_ ”

“HEY!” Sheriff cut in through his gritted teeth. “It’s that  _bullshit_  that is keeping my son together.” Sheriff rebutted, point an accusing finger at Brunski’s broad chest.

“Let me help you out.” Scott offered bitterly, slapping a hand on his shoulder and tugging him out of the room. As Scott walked away, he left Kira, Malia, and Derek standing by the door, watching Mr. Stilinski slowly trying to collect his composure. He brushed off the front of his shirt before calmly turning to the three of them, his expression stilling as his eyes found Derek.

There was nothing said following the look, but Derek had enough common sense to at least  _read_  Stiles’ father's expression instead of wandering around dumbly- as if there  _hadn’t_  been a look; a look of pure shock and disbelief, with also a small twinge of defensiveness- the look of paternal anger. The look a father gives the person who breaks their child’s heart. Derek had seen that look before, but never in his life had it been directed to him. Never had Derek come back to so much damage and emotional carnage. Never in his life had Derek felt so responsible.

“We brought Stiles with us!” Malia nearly shouted, breaking Derek’s eye contact with the Sheriff. “We brought you Stiles, Mr. Stilinski!” She seemed far too pleased with herself as she waved Lydia over.

Lydia stood on cue and gripped Stiles’ hand, intending on walking him forward. Instead though, she had to _pull_ Stiles across the room. Lydia took three steps forward and was yanked back by an uncooperative teenage boy refusing to lift a finger forward. She smiled nervously before slipping her hand from Stiles’ and using it to rub his back soothingly, whispering to him quietly. He didn’t budge. His eyes remained lost in the space between the groups, his breathing unnaturally slow, and body slouching as if standing required too much effort. It wasn’t the condition Malia’s tone was expecting.

“Oh god. What happened?” The Sheriff asked, stepping forward nervously, his hands extended as if to catch Stiles as he wobbled slowly.

“N-Nothing.” Malia muttered, staring at Stiles with a look of betrayal. “He was fine a minute ago. H-He was  _fine_. He smiled at me!” She cried, pointing at Stiles frantically. “H-He smiled! He was happy! I-I saw it. He was fine… _He was fine._ ”

“Malia, it’s okay.” Kira whispered, rubbing her back in the same comforting way Lydia was to Stiles. “It’s not your fault.”

“I swear he was fine just a second ago!” She cried, looking at the crestfallen expression on Stiles’ father’s face. “I’m s-sorry!” Malia had just brought the Sheriff's troubled son to his feet in a worse, more broken condition than the last time he saw him. “I am so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He said, waving a hand at Malia and trying to act like it wasn’t a big deal and wasn’t anything to even apologize for. “It’s okay, Malia. Don’t worry about it.”

Derek saw Malia’s face crumple as she ducked her head in shame and sniffled quietly, Kira quickly wrapping her around Malia and comforting her. Scott had walked back into the station by the time Malia had recomposed herself and was clinging to Stiles’ side, still slightly concerned as to why Stiles was in the shape he was- and how he had gotten there so quickly.

“Everything okay in here?” Scott asked, sensing the tension immediately. Derek was impressed; Scott’s alpha senses were much sharper than before. And even more fine tuned when it came to his pack.

“We’re fine.” Lydia reported, looking between Malia and Stiles. “Stiles isn’t doing as well as he was, but we’re still all okay, right?”

“Right.” Malia nodded, taking a deep breath. “We’re still okay.”

Scott seemed to notice the sadness dripping from Malia’s voice as she agreed with Lydia, but didn’t say anything further on the subject. He simply wrapped his arm around Stiles’ shoulders and pulled him into his side, grinning at Mr. Stilinski.

“Alright, it was great to see you, Sheriff. We’ll head out and let you get back to work.” He said brightly, turning Stiles and walking him towards the door.

“Scott?” Sheriff said, causing the pack to stop and turn. “Can you just, take him home? Brunski said people heard him out at one in the morning… Take him home and make sure he gets some sleep.”

“Of course! We can take him home.” Scott nodded, patting Stiles on the back. “We’re gonna take you home, Stiles. How does that sound? Get some sleep, relax this afternoon- sound good?” Stiles did nothing to respond. “That’s what I thought.” Scott sighed to himself as he led Stiles and the pack outside.

Once again, Derek was in charge of driving Lydia and Malia as the pack migrated to the Stilinski residence. They all parked along the curb and clambered out to help guide Stiles out of Kira’s car and in his front door. Derek was at the door, holding it open as the pack cooed and coaxed him to take each shaky step, inching him closer to the door. Each time his foot shuffled forward, his body lurched unnaturally and his head hung down, like he was sleepwalking. As they trekked up the three short steps to Stiles’ porch, a gust of wind whistled past them. None of them were bothered and could continue walking forward without issue, but Derek watched Stiles in the wind and saw his balance tip to one side, his body falling into Scott. Scott gripped his shirt quickly and was able to push him back up, thankfully, but in the quick tugging and pulling, Stiles' shirt was pulled taunt against his torso. It showed off the bumps of his ribs and hollowing drop where a full, content, well-feed stomach should have been. Maybe sleep wasn’t the only thing Stiles needed.

Derek followed the group slowly, still registering the condition Stiles was in- and still walking around without (too much) trouble- and realized at the top of their staircase, where it was they were taking him; Derek had made it a habit of only being in Stiles’ room with his explicit permission- except for the one time he was on the run and used Stiles’ room as an escape route- and stepping into the boy’s room went against everything Derek had forced himself to call routine.

The room was not the way Derek remembered it. Before, it was covered in knick-knacks and posters of various pop culture trends- some Derek had never heard of- but now it was practically trashed. There were books open and strewn on the floor, stacks of research highlighted and underlined scattered along the floor, pictures were crudely pasted to the wall with strings tied to each picture, connecting it to another picture or to a piece of paper lying on the floor. As Derek stepped over a non-translated edition of a book written in archaic Latin, with sticky notes on nearly every page, he vaguely remembered someone saying something once about the state of your home reflecting your state of mind.

Scott laid Stiles down on his surprisingly made up mattress and continued to talk to him calmly, as if singing him to sleep with reassurances that everyone would be downstairs if he needed their help. Derek decided to not hover by Stiles’ bed and looked around the room curiously. He wandered over to the cut out in the wall that held three large shelves, covered with what seemed like everything that no longer had the luxury of taking up space since research and red strings infested Stiles' bedroom. There were chess boards, school flash cards, a pair of sneakers, the snapped off top to a lacrosse stick, cracked pictures frames, and crumpled photo paper. Everything that made Stiles human was cramped on those shelves, collecting dust and losing meaning.

“What’s happening to you, Stiles?” Derek muttered to himself, picking up one of the fallen down frames and righting it. The picture was of a beautiful woman in her late twenties, sitting in a patch of wildflowers, her face sprinkled with freckles and beauty marks, each one being highlighted as she grinned up at the warm sun, flowers tucked behind her ears and sticking out of her long, flowing brunette hair. She looked graceful, free, and _exactly_ like the small boy sitting in her lap. He was wearing the same expression as he smiled at the camera, completely content in the lap of his assumed mother. Something about the boy’s smile made Derek hesitate before he turned away to rejoin the pack by Stiles. It was familiar and welcoming. Something in Derek felt comforted by the small boy. He felt like he had seen the picture before, felt like he had lived this moment in another life- or simply just hours before.

Derek grabbed the frame quickly, his fingers fumbling with the pivoting clasps to pull the back off and take the picture of Stiles and his mother from the glass frame. He tucked it into his pocket frantically as he said rushed goodbyes, ignored Lydia’s impatient calls for him to come back, and ran to his car. Derek was barely sitting in his seat for a second before he was throwing his car in reverse and backing away from the curb so he could switch gears and practically break every law getting to the Sheriff’s station in a timely manner. Which was ironic; if he broke a law and got pulled over, he’d probably get there faster. But then again, Derek didn’t need Stiles’ father any more annoyed with him. He needed a clean slate. And some answers.

“Sheriff!” Derek shouted, storming into the station and surpassing the confused woman at the desk, asking for his ID. “Sheriff! I need to ask you something!”

“Derek?” Stiles’ father came rushing out of his office, meeting Derek by the deputy’s desk. “What happened? Is Stiles okay?”

“He’s fine. He’s fine. He’s getting some sleep.” Derek said quickly, catching his breath. “I’m not here about him. I’m here about this.” He thrust the picture forward. “Is this your wife?” He seemed to be taken aback by the photo in front of him, slowly reaching out and taking it from Derek, his thumb running over the beam of sunlight creating a halo around the two people captured in the image.

“Yeah. That’s Claudia. And Stiles when he was  _ridiculously_  young.” He said with a weak smile, bringing the picture closer to himself. “It was Stiles’ favorite picnic place- Claudia’s too. We would go there every Saturday afternoon for lunch and they would just… they would walk through the grass- well Claudia would walk, Stiles would have to be carried- and they’d walk with their arms out, humming to themselves whatever tune came to them, and putting those little pink flowers in _everyone’s_  hair; Stiles used to pick  _piles_  of them and stick them in Claudia’s braids.” The Sheriff sighed and handed the picture back. “The happiest I’ve ever seen Stiles is when he would be in that park. Every time I took him there, he would always be so-”

“Peaceful?”

“Yeah… Actually yeah.” He asked, nodding at Derek. He obviously was on to Derek since he came into the station yelling, but he seemed more confused by the way the conversation _wasn’t_ going towards complete catastrophe or bad news. “How’d you guess?”

“Someone said the same thing this morning…” Derek trailed off, reconsidering the list of things Stiles would do at the park. “The  _exact_  same thing.”

“Why do I feel like you are trying to tell me something?” The Sheriff prompted, folding his arms across his chest as he studied Derek’s furrowed brows and widening eyes. Derek seemed to forget that not only was the Sheriff Stiles' father- and very much like his son- but he was in fact a police officer and solved crimes for a living. He knew when pieces were being put together.

“I’m not entirely sure if I am or not, Sheriff.” Derek replied honestly. “I- I just keep feeling like this all means something…” Derek allowed his uncertainty to settle as he tried to articulate the ways things just weren’t as coincidental as the pack thought; Scott described everything to Derek the night before as bleak as they could get without any hope- Lydia confirming it with her venomous speech- but here Stiles was, seemingly _fine_ , in a place surrounded by memories. “He was relaxed and calm today and he even smi- He smiled. Stiles  _smiled_  today.” Derek kept saying it, relishing in the fact that Derek was catching even the tiniest glimpse of what he had been missing for so long. Even if Stiles smiled at someone else.

Before Derek could even feel envy over that _someone_ being Malia, he found himself remembering what Kira had said earlier in the park: Malia really ‘met’ Stiles in Eichen House. And by that time, according to Scott, Stiles was far gone; his grip was the loosest it had been up to that moment and Stiles wasn’t _really_ Stiles. Malia and Stiles didn’t exactly have a relationship for her to be on the receiving end of his first smile.

Except, Malia wasn’t just a person with him in the park that day; she was someone that was picking flowers and maternally guiding him through the wildflowers and blossoming trees. It wasn’t heart warming to Stiles. It was _familiar_.

Stiles mistook Malia as his  _mother_. He wasn't having fun or enjoying his time on the Earth- He wasn’t even present that day. Stiles was still as far gone and distant from their reality. He was simply immersed in a memory. He was living behind a curtain of make-believe and fantasy, with a dark spirit at the controls- and now there was another layer coming into play that Derek did  _not-_  know how to navigate. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t try and find someone who could.

Derek was too stuck in his own thoughts to say anything to the Sheriff before turning on his heels and walking towards the door, his head still down and staring at the photograph in his hands, his brain already trying to piece the puzzle together and formulating a way to relay his possible discoveries to the pack.

“Derek.” Sheriff called after him, causing Derek to stop in his tracks. Usually, angry fathers didn’t call after their children’s heartbreakers in such a calm fashion. “Derek, you’ve got to help him.” Derek snapped out of his daze as he heard the _desperation_ in the father’s voice.

“Uh, sorry, Sheriff, but my definition of help has changed quite a bit in the past twenty four hours. I’m not sure  _how_  to, to be honest-”

“If Scott’s plans aren’t doing anything and Lydia is falling short and Malia is failing terribly as well… You’re our last chance.” He continued urgently, his eyes pleading. "You’ve got to do something, Derek. I don’t really know what you _could_ do, but… You’re our _only_ chance. The only one he has left.” The way he was crafting his words seemed very careful and very much in the category of a father speaking about something he knew a bit _too much_ about. He wasn’t pleading on his own behalf, as a father asking a man to help return his son to him, but as a father begging a man to be there for his son and be the one to bring him back to his right mind by simply  _being there_.

“Do you know something I don’t, Sheriff?” Derek asked slowly, not caring about the blatant implications of his question.

“I know a lot of things… But that’s not the point; I’m not asking you to do anything involving your _personal life_ and my son. I just-” He stopped himself as his voice began to waver and reveal to Derek just how close the end of his rope was. “Just, help my son. Please.  _You’re_  the one he trusts. Just get him to trust that you’re  _real_  that you aren’t some mind game that’s being played on him.” The Sheriff stopped himself again to take a deep breath, unknowingly letting Derek know that Stiles had most likely not believed his own father was real and rejected interaction or comfort from him. “Bring him back, Derek. Please… I can’t lose him  _and_  Claudia. Not the same way.” The Sheriff meant they were both going to leave him in a slow decent into madness while being ripped from reality, kicking and screaming, which made something in Derek empathize with Stiles’ father in a way he hadn’t expected; instead of feeling an overwhelming feeling of pity for the way the man’s life was crumbling, Derek felt _angry_. He felt ambition swell inside of him and make every inch of his body electric and restless. Derek Hale was going to help find an answer to every question the Sheriff had. He owed it to Stiles’ father. And truthfully, he owed it to Stiles.

“Yes, sir. I’ll do my best.” Derek promised, tightening his grip around the picture. “You can count on me.”

“Thank god you came back.” He said, sounding genuinely thankful for Derek’s return to Beacon Hills and the pack. “We could all use a little hope around here.”

“And you think the person filled to the brim with hope is me?” Derek couldn’t help but ask the most obvious question. He hadn’t spoken to the Sheriff much one-on-one before and knew for a fact that his only impression of him came from his son. And there was no way Stiles built him up to be an optimistic young man.

“No. But I know if there’s one person who won’t give up on my son, it’s you.” He replied. “Even if there isn’t a single ounce of hope left, I know you’ll keep fighting for my son- you won’t let that bastard take Stiles.”


	4. Seeing Red

Derek’s talk with the pack went less than favorably.

He had intended for it to go _far_ more smoothly, possibly ending with a group hug of some kind- since Scott was very fond of those- and a mutual agreement that Stiles needed to be more _emotionally_ stimulated and they needed to no longer depend on physical contact, since Stiles wasn’t even _in their reality_. If Stiles was seeing things that weren’t real, and people that were dead- and yes, Derek made sure that he left a pause for Scott to make the obligatory ‘I see dead people’ joke- what makes them think that Stiles is even _feeling_ their touch? Stiles could be completely hidden from them and the Nogitsune could just be stringing them along- they had to access emotions that weren’t just a memory. The pack had to find Stiles, lost in his own mind, wake him up, and remind him what it was like to fight- to win.

But that didn’t seem to translate well. To the pack, Derek’s speech came out as, _you guys have been failing Stiles this entire time and now he’s closer to getting thrown into Eichen House than he’s ever been and it’s your fault_. Before Derek even had time to patch up the misunderstandings that arose from his speedy explanation, Malia had threatened bodily harm to him, Lydia had been seconds from killing Derek with the most terrifying death glare he had ever been on the receiving end of, and Scott began to cry, his searing red eyes backing Derek out the front door.

Derek essentially left with his tail between his legs, ashamed and wondering if he had just made things worse- which he now knew he most certainly did; Derek had effectively crushed the remaining spirit of his other pack members. Upon reconsideration, Derek realized his approach could have been much different; he had run back into Stiles’ house, calling their names, huddling them up, only to shatter the single strand of hope they had collectively been depending on for months. And Derek had only been speaking for ten minutes. Ten minutes and the entire pack didn’t want to see Derek again. Ten minutes and suddenly he wasn’t allowed to see Stiles. Ten minutes and he was being thrown out of Stiles’ house with a promise that if he came back, Scott would make sure Derek never saw the next full moon.

After he stood up from the porch and dusted himself off, he went back to his car quietly, knowing better than to test the pack. Derek could take a hint. He could take the hint that he had screwed up. _Royally_. Derek could appreciate their honesty and loyalty, but at the same time, he was having trouble sitting around his house after his new discoveries, _not_ being with Stiles, not making sure he was okay and breathing and alive and content and comfortable and _in the same dimension as them_. Derek wanted himself to think of how _wonderful_ his pack was being towards Stiles, protecting him from the ones they deemed harmful. Only problem was now Derek was deemed the number one candidate of danger; he was deemed the _most_ _dangerous_ person that threatened Stiles’ return to their current and accepted reality. The person that would get him locked up in Eichen House faster, where his brain would be prodded and twisted and screwed into all in the name of science and discovery. Derek was now being viewed as someone _harming_ Stiles. His presence was killing Stiles- and the pack.

Derek left Stiles’ house in shame and proceeded to return to his empty, less welcoming and familiar home that had not been used as an actual living quarters in months and only a base camp for scheming against evil and ritualistic sacrificing. It breathed isolation and abandonment. Derek closed the door behind him and noted his packed up things, collected in a corner and making Derek feel anxious- as if he had to leave again. He knew that if he wanted to quiet his nerves and never ending echoing loop of Scott scolding him, he would need to _live_ somewhere. He would need to make the empty loft into the only place in Beacon Hills he would be able to return to without any objections.

Derek unzipped one of his bags and began slowly placing his things back one by one where they belong, making the house friendly again. Derek was walking past the staircase when he noticed something thrown over the railing. Derek immediately brushed it aside as something that belonged to Peter until he took note to the color. In the darkness of Derek’s loft, it looked brown- something that was most definitely Peter’s- but as Derek stepped closer, it was revealed to be red. Definitely not Peter’s. There was only one person who walked in and out of Derek’s loft that wore red. A red sweatshirt.

Derek wasn’t sure what to do with it at first; all he could do was stare at it, hanging over the rusted metal railing, _teasing_ Derek. This was the only connection he would have to Stiles for a long time- possibly the rest of his life. This generic red sweatshirt Stiles left in Derek’s loft months ago during their constant hunt for the Darach and Stiles’ childhood friend, Heather, was his last piece of Stiles; he had been coming over to the loft constantly, with more information and more clues stolen- _temporarily_ _misappropriated, Derek. Come on_ \- from the Sheriff’s department and trying to piece things together before another body was taken, and it looked like one night Stiles went home one sweatshirt short, never noticing it was gone. It was then that Derek realized that his loft wasn’t strange and foreign because it was packed up and in boxes, it was because Stiles wasn’t wandering around the open floor space, shouting about conspiracies and making dog related wolf puns. Derek stood in the loft and realized he was completely and utterly alone and only had a sweatshirt to remind him that, at one time, he had someone that had made his loft a _home_.

It only made the waiting worse.

It was around the fifth day that Derek started to grow restless. All he could think about was Stiles; Stiles being hurt, Stiles hurting _someone else_ , Stiles living another memory and giving the pack false hope, Stiles living in a world that only caused him agonizing pain and constant panic attacks- the constant worry never left Derek alone. It hung around the loft like an unwanted guest.

Derek had been trying to catch up on his leisurely reading with a forced session with _Heart of Darkness_ \- Stiles told Derek it was a good read a bit before he left for South America- when Peter came in the front door, far too casual for Derek’s liking.

 “What can I help you with?” Derek asked, closing the book harshly and tossing it aside. “You know you don’t live here, right? I _own_ this entire building.”

“I just came to see if you were still pouting.” Peter replied calmly, clocking Derek’s body language. “And I apparently I was right.”

“I’m waiting for the pack to get back to me.” Derek lied, not wanting to let Peter know how badly he had upset Scott and his friends. He didn’t want Peter to have that satisfaction. “They are figuring out a new plan.” Derek at least _hoped_ that was true.

“Right. And that’s why I just saw Brunski leaving the Sheriff’s office with a _very_ pleased expression.” Peter muttered, stepping down from the landing of the foyer and strolling up to Derek, smirking at his frozen posture, reading his every thought. “Thought you might want to know that.”

“When did you see this?” Derek asked, quickly standing and staring at Peter with desperate eyes- ones that might also have been glowing; Derek wasn’t in enough control to tell.

“Two days ago?” Peter muttered, teasingly tapping his chin. “No, I think it was three.”

“And you decide to share this information with me _now_?” Derek couldn’t believe his uncle. At one time, they were close friends, and just conveniently relatives. But now, Derek just wanted to exile him back into a six year coma where he couldn’t meddle in his life any longer. But Derek knew the chances of _that_ miracle happening were directly below Stiles coming back to them safe and sound.

“I figured it wasn’t important.” Peter shrugged, shimmying out of his jacket and throwing it over the back of Derek’s couch. “Was I wrong?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” Derek responded dryly, digging his phone out of his pocket and walking towards the front door, stopping in his tracks to motion Peter to _get out_ before taking another step.

Derek waited by the door as Peter slowly walked out, demanding respect and control of the situation- and Derek’s feelings. As he took his final steps out the door, Peter tried to say one last thing, a sarcastic knowing comment about a red sweatshirt formed on Peter’s lips, but Derek slammed the door before Peter could even formulate in what way he wanted to insult him. Derek focused on his phone call to block out Peter. The minute the phone stopped ringing Derek began rambling, begging Scott to tell him that Stiles was okay- that he was safe. Derek stopped himself momentarily to take a deep breath and force himself to sound far more composed, when he heard the voice responding on the other end:

_Hi! You’ve reached Scott McCall- and probably Stiles since I never leave his side- sorry I couldn’t get to the phone right now. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can! Thanks!_

The drawn out beep- and best friend made voicemail- were far more tantalizing than Derek had anticipated and found himself storming out the front door before the sound even terminated. He didn’t have time to talk to some machine and hope that Scott got it, and even called back. Derek had to talk to them _now._

He had a new energy pounding in his ears and pumping through his veins as he drove to find the pack; he had just heard Stiles’ voice for the first time in _months_ and he actually sounded at peace and joyful. The worst was Derek knowing that Scott’s voicemail was _years_ old. Both of them hadn’t been that happy in ages. And now, it was partially Derek’s fault.

Derek pulled up outside Scott’s house and noticed only his mother’s car parked in the driveway. He cautiously approached the door, knocking as steadily as he could, waiting for Melissa to answer.

“Derek? Hi! How are you?” She didn’t seem the slightest bit fazed by Derek’s sudden reappearance in the United States, she just seemed pleased that Derek was there.

“I’m doing okay- I’m just looking for Scott. Have you seen him?” Derek prompted, trying not to seem panicked or rushed. He buried his hands in his jacket pockets, furling and unfurling his claws as he stood on the front step.

“He’s at Lydia’s. The whole pack is having a little hang out for Kira. I thought you’d be invited… Is everything okay?” She asked, furrowing her eyebrows and taking in Derek’s disheveled appearance and antsy feet. “Did something happen with Stiles?”

“No! No. Everything’s fine. I just was busy all day and haven’t heard from him, that’s all.” Derek smiled, lying blatantly to Scott’s mother, knowing he could get away with it; she didn’t have any supernatural abilities.

“Oh. Okay.” Melissa replied nodding her head, slightly confused. “W-Would you like to come inside, Derek? You look a little shaken up-”

“I’d love to, but if Scott’s at Lydia’s, I should probably head over now. Sorry I can’t talk longer, I’d love to stay but, I have to go-” Derek rushed, stepping away from Melissa with each word before sprinting back to the car and speeding to Lydia’s. Derek knew he had made a less than inconspicuous exit, but he didn’t really care. It was only Melissa; even though their conversations were limited, Derek trusted Melissa with every instinct he had. She was, and always would be, one of the good guys. It was no wonder where Scott got it.

Derek pulled up outside Lydia’s house in record time, squeezing his car wherever he could among the lines of cars down Lydia’s street. He barely had his car in park before he was running up to Lydia’s house and nearly breaking the door down as he begged for someone to answer him over the loud, thumping music.

“ _LYDIA_ _! SOMEONE’S AT THE DOOR!_ ” That didn’t _sound_ like anyone from the pack to Derek. So much for the small pack get together Derek was hoping for. Solving misunderstandings was going to be a hell of a lot harder if there were normal human teenagers stumbling around the house, eavesdropping on their very out of the ordinary conversation about demon spirits and werewolves.

The door swung open and Lydia stood in the doorway, her face immediately falling as she saw Derek nervously smiling on her front step. She quickly went to shut the door, but Derek put his arm out, applying only a fraction of his strength in keeping the door open, just so he could try and coax her into _not_ wanting him dead.

“What do you want, Derek?” Lydia said, letting the door open farther. Derek expected her to be much more venomous, but instead she just sounded exhausted and that having a conversation- with anyone, not just Derek- was taking every last spark of energy she had left.

“I’m looking for Scott.” Derek replied honestly, deciding to not test her patience. “Is he here?”

“Yes, he is. But we’re- well, the entire town of Beacon Hills is- having a party for Kira’s birthday that was two weeks ago; none of us have been focused on anything but Stiles to even have an extra second to celebrate it and even be _happy_ about something. So, we are trying to have a good time and don’t need your super-realist views and inability to be a cheerful human being ruining our evening!” Lydia seethed, digging her fingernails into the door as her temper rose much faster than expected.

“Uh,” Derek rubbed the back of his neck nervously as he tried to think of a safe way to defuse Lydia. “I-I just came to see if everyone was okay. Peter said he saw something happening with Brunski and I just wanted to make sure you were all okay.”

“Stiles is still here, if that’s what you’re getting at.” Lydia sighed, jutting her thumb over her shoulder.

“You made a deal with Brunski?” Derek asked, relieved. If Brunski left the Sheriff’s office looking relatively content, maybe he had been paid off or given a sweeter deal than locking up a helpless teenager.

“Not quite.” Lydia bit her lip and stepped forward, shutting the door over and separating them from the crowds of people inside, cheering and laughing. “We get him for two more weeks. Then it’s back to Eichen House.”

“Two weeks!” Derek echoed, outraged. “You can’t do _anything_ in two weeks!” Derek immediately clamped his mouth shut as he realized what he had implied; _helping_.

Lydia rocked her weight on her heels before sighing and meeting Derek’s eyes with a new form of intensity- and weakness. “He’s getting worse, Derek. Yesterday he hit Scott _unprovoked_ and today he’s been randomly collapsing without any warnings. There is nothing left to do in these two weeks. We have to at least _pretend_ like we are normal teenagers- pretend like our best friend isn’t slowly being taken over by a demon spirit with a craving for misery and chaos.” Lydia’s bottom lip quivered as she quickly looked away and cleared her throat. “We have no other options. We don’t know what to do, Derek.”

Derek was about to suggest his newest discovery again, when he saw the utter heartbreak that was being restrained with every ounce of fight Lydia had left. She wasn’t being stubborn and not listening to Derek or refusing his help or suggestions- that wasn’t her motive- just like Derek’s wasn’t to crush their hopes and optimism; they were avoiding Derek because he had told them the truth. He had opened their eyes to just how lost Stiles was _in his own mind_. Derek told them that Stiles wasn’t being reached with simple hand holding and soft reassurances, which is the only weapon they had against the Nogitsune. That was the only defense the pack had in their arsenal and Derek told them that it wasn’t doing a damn thing to stop their friend from being re-possessed. Derek only reminded them that they were failing- they _had_ _been_ failing this whole time. It was as if they had not been doing anything for Stiles.

“Where is he?” Derek didn’t need to specify who he was looking for.

“Last time I saw him he was wandering around the study, I think _reading_ the spines of the books; it was the first time I’ve seen him interact with his environment in a long time… We’re hoping he’ll be okay tonight.” Lydia pushed the front door open and stepped in, waving Derek forward. “Go ahead in. Find him. And if you do, bring him back.”

Against all of Derek’s proper judgment and personal habits, he leaned in and embraced Lydia quickly, silently telling her that her tendencies to become over emotional around him were okay and accepted and appreciated and internally reciprocated by Derek. He wanted to reassure Lydia that she wasn’t alone in her crumbling world of dead ends and lost efforts. And for whatever reason, the only way Derek could express that was in a hug, holding Lydia carefully and making sure he didn’t crush her delicate frame or catch the intricate designs of her lace hostess dress as he pulled away, smiling at her and taking off to find Stiles.

He followed Lydia’s directions and went to her study, although the entire time his mind and nose were telling him to go in a different direction. Derek weaved down the crowded hallway to the study on the far left, the door cracked open and only a dim lamp casting light onto the wood floor. He stepped into the study to find books open and left on the floor. Pages were ripped out of books, desk drawers were open with files spilling onto the floor, and book spines were broken creating a path of destruction that circled the entire room. Stiles definitely had been there. The air had a strange scent to it- the longer Derek stood in the cluttered room, the more anxious he began to feel; Derek was guessing Scott was no longer with Stiles, guarding him and by his side every second. Stiles had been in there, looking for something. If not Stiles looking, than the Nogitsune and god knows what he found.

Derek put a few of the mostly intact books back on a self and collected all the loose pages before placing them on the desk in the back corner. As Derek picked up the pieces of paper, he noticed some were printed out copies of the bestiary with scribbled translations on the side. The top page- the detailed description of the kanima- had been ripped, the bottom portion missing and presumably somewhere in the literary carnage under his feet. Whatever happened in the study definitely wasn’t Stiles acting calm; maybe some part of him had remembered Jackson upon seeing the page and acted irrationally, but completely compelled by emotion. Derek knew it was foolish to be optimistic, but after walking into a room like that, Derek found that optimism- even obviously _false_ optimism- was the only way to keep moving and keep looking without feeling the overwhelming sensation he would just be finding a dead body and not a living teenage boy. It was the only way to get him to leave the study and pursue his instincts to find, what he hoped to be a boy in one piece.

The staircase Derek attempted to descend was crammed with gyrating and wasted high schoolers trying to find a warm body to dance close to and touch inappropriately. On the landing, Derek almost stumbled over a couple, making out on the last step and oblivious to their inconvenient placement. He apologized to the two ladies before following his other senses to locate the unwatched boy wandering around a house filled with clueless drunk teenagers, with no regard for safety and absolutely no idea there was a possessed boy in their midst. No idea that someone in their grinding lines was slowly dying and had no way to defend themselves if their inner demon decided to take hold and attack, twisting his reality and sense of self and making the entire world into a funhouse mirror. Derek stopped in the middle of the living room, ducking his head and closing his eyes, willing Stiles’ heartbeat to find him. He didn’t just have the sweatshirt anymore. He had a heartbeat, he had scent, he had the _actual boy_ with him. Now he just had to go find him, two rooms over, following the heartbeat pounding in his ears.

The kitchen was surprisingly empty when Derek marched inside. Derek expected at least one tipsy teenager fumbling around in the refrigerator, completely oblivious to their surroundings, but the only company the kitchen held was a thin boy practically swimming in his number twenty- four lacrosse sweatshirt, deafening Derek with his jackhammer heartbeat. Derek entered the still atmosphere quickly and without thinking, putting himself in Stiles’ space and taking in the emptiness and silence around him. It felt familiar and safe being alone with Stiles. It had been awhile since they had been- in a kitchen none the less- but Derek still felt a certain level of comfort just simply standing in the same room as Stiles, seeing that he was in one piece and on his own two feet.

“You alright, Stiles?” Derek asked, speaking to Stiles one-on-one for the first time. Even though he knew Stiles wouldn’t answer, he still felt obligated to _try_. He now understood Scott’s constant state of one sided conversations. Talking allowed you to pretend, even for just a second. “The party is out here, Stiles.” Not that Stiles would even know _how_ to enjoy a party in his current state. There were so many dancing half dressed girls and handsomely put together drunk young men and Stiles was mentally absent. Made sense; Stiles’ luck hadn’t been the best as of late.

Derek leaned against the counter island and watched as Stiles’ legs buckled and his hands gripped the edge of the counter, grounding him and keeping him standing. Derek figured he was still weak from the ‘collapsing episodes’ Lydia had told him about, but when Stiles’ hands began shaking and losing grip on the counter, Derek tuned his hearing back to his heartbeat, which had elevated from its already racing pace.

“Stiles? What’s wrong?” Derek said softly, reaching out to comfort him, only to have Stiles make a sound of rejection as his body threw itself in the opposite direction of Derek’s touch. Derek tried it again, just taking Stiles’ hand in his own and watched as Stiles jerked away forcefully, curling in on himself as he panted and shook.

Derek couldn’t touch Stiles. Stiles’ body rejected the idea of Derek coming in contact with him. As narcissistic as the thought sounded to Derek, he knew that wasn’t Stiles’ doing. That was the Nogitsune. The Nogitsune was in control. It was _watching_.  And it knew exactly what it was doing- to both Stiles and Derek.

“Stiles! Calm down. It’s okay.” Derek attempted, clasping his hands in front of himself nervously, not sure how to help. “Stiles, just try to relax, keep yourself standing.” As if on cue, Stiles’ arm shot out and attempted to grip the counter as he began to tip over. Derek foresaw Stiles’ grip giving out and reached forward last minute to grab his sweatshirt and keep his head from completely ramming into the title floor. As Derek eased him to the ground- where he could no longer fall- he looked in Stiles’ eyes and saw only terror staring back, staring around the room and avoiding the warped images before him. “SCOTT!” Derek shouted, knowing that even over the thumping music the alpha would hear him. “SCOTT WE NEED SOME HELP IN HERE!”

Derek knelt by Stiles, carefully watching his every move and trying to see what the problem was- what was triggering his panic attack. He asked Stiles quietly and frantically again what was wrong, unsure how to comfort Stiles since he couldn’t touch him without earning a _violent reaction_ from the spirit within. Stiles was breathing like oxygen was becoming difficult to obtain, his chest heaving with each breath while his entire body fought itself. Derek wasn’t even sure if Stiles was having a panic attack or a seizure. He called for Scott again, praying the music didn’t trump his hearing abilities. As he waited for the Calvary, Derek began noticing what movements Stiles was cycling through; his legs bent at the knee slowly- as if he was trying to get away- his neck was turning to both sides quickly and harshly as if he was searching the room, and his right arm continuously bent in before going rigid, straightening and pounding his fist against the tile floor by Derek’s knees. With closer inspection, Derek noticed that in Stiles’ right hand was a now crumpled piece of paper. Derek was able to pry it from Stiles’ hand, carefully untangling the folds and creases to find what Stiles was reading before his body began betraying him and sending him into a panicked state.

The piece of paper turned into three as Derek began to unfold it- two pieces were lined paper that looked like a letter and the third was a smaller piece that looked like a business card. Derek read the heading of the letter and felt his own heart race: _From the desk of Christopher Argent_. Derek wasn’t sure what the Argents, well _Argent_ , would be doing sending mail to the pack he hadn’t seen in a few months, and felt no urge to take the time to read the rest of the letter. Derek quickly grabbed the smaller piece of paper and looked at the fine print, seeing it had a date, time, and place written neatly on it; it had the address and name of a cemetery with a date set for that Saturday.

Allison’s funeral. Chris was writing the pack to tell them he was coming back to hold Allison’s funeral. Chris was ready, emotionally. But Derek didn’t think the rest of the pack was. If Stiles was any indication, no one was ready for the event. Everyone had been so busy with Stiles that it seemed like none of them had time to grieve, and now they had to openly grieve in front of the entire Argent family when they all knew very well that every finger was pointed at them for the blame- Stiles more than anyone, which made the panic attack make a lot more sense. Although, it seemed a bit too _Stiles_ for Derek to brush it off as another mind game planned by the Nogitsune. Stiles was the only one out of the two of them residing in his head that actually cared about Allison, and somehow Stiles was able to gain enough emotional control to have a panic attack about it…

“We’re here.” Scott said, barging into the kitchen with Kira and Lydia. “Is he okay? What’s happening?” Scott skidded to a halt beside Derek, watching Stiles’ odd behavior.

“He found this.” Derek handed the letter to Lydia, since it was addressed to her, and turned his attention back to Stiles who was still twitching. “I came looking for him and he was fine but then- he just broke.”

“Is he, _running_?” Scott asked, crouching next to Derek. Derek took note to how the entire pack picked up on the oddities of this panic attack just as quickly as Derek. There was an unspoken air of worry as everyone watched him. “Stiles? Stiles, man, what’s happening? Look at me. It’s okay.” Scott reached forward and grabbed Stiles’ hand, thumping his thumb across Stiles’ knuckles as he spoke to him. “It’s okay. We’ve got you.”

Slowly, Stiles stopped convulsing. His legs straightened out and his arms became limp as Scott continued to talk him out of his panic attack. While Stiles’ body did relax, his eyes remained alarmed for a second longer before glazing over and returning to their constant dull, dead stare. Something inside of Derek had the momentary thought that calming Stiles down was the exact opposite of what they wanted to do- Derek had never seen Stiles so animated and _present_ before, but now he was back to being comatose and a walking corpse.

“Lydia, send everyone home. Kira, get Malia and take Stiles to the lake house.” Scott said, standing and sending his pack out of the room. “Derek, call Peter and get him over here.”

“Why?” Derek asked nervously. What did Scott want with his Uncle? They hadn’t been on speaking terms for a while last time he checked.

“Because. We’ve got to try something else.” Scott growled, flashing his red eyes and giving Derek a determined look. “The Nogitsune wants to use Stiles’ memories against us? Well, two can play at that game."


	5. Dumb Teenagers

Before Lydia could get a single intoxicated teenager out of her house, Derek had Peter on the phone, telling him to get his ass over to Lydia’s and in the lake house within the  _minute_  Derek hung up the phone.

For once, Peter actually did as he was told; he was standing in the center of the lake house, arms crossed and incredibly impatient by the time the pack filed in. Derek hadn’t told him  _why_  Scott desired his presence so urgently, and was enjoying the moments of tension and anticipation building as everyone found their place in the room, facing Peter. Scott led the pack, Stiles slung over his shoulder and looking more and more lifeless as he hung beside Scott; Kira was behind Scott, spotting Stiles, with Malia and Lydia on either side of her; and Derek stood as an outsider to the right of the group, just staring at his uncle and mentally daring him to act out of line.

“Is someone going to tell me why I’m here?” Peter asked, raising his eyebrows and looking expectantly at Derek and then Scott, who looked close to tears. “And _why_ you have the corpse hanging off of you.”

“We need to try something else.” Scott said flatly, looking quickly at Stiles and biting back a harsher reply. “And this is the only thing I could think of… This is our last option before Brunski takes him.”

“We can’t let the Nogitsune take Stiles. Not again.” Lydia approached Peter with unmatched confidence. He had taken advantage of her enough, now it was time for Lydia to manipulate Peter for her bidding for once. “Are you going to help us or not?”

“Still not sure on what I’m helping you with…” Peter continued, shrugging his shoulders and waving his arms out in confusion. "You guys seem to be alright sending him to an early grave all on your own-"

“Memories." Scott cut in, still holding himself back. "We need to search through our memories and find something that we can use to bring Stiles back.” Scott held his voice evenly, easing Stiles into the chair Kira was pulling from the clutter.

“I don’t see how this will help- didn’t you already try that?” Peter dismissed the idea and rolled his eyes, adjusting his jacket as if he was ready to leave the pack. Derek knew Peter would put up somewhat of a fight, but he didn’t think he would abandon the pack during their last minutes of hope.

“Actually no.” Lydia chimed in, stopping Peter in his tracks. “We’ve just been appealing to the Stiles we can reach on the outside. Which is in  _no_  way effective since the Nogitsune is just pulling Stiles farther into his mind.”

"I still don't follow." Peter muttered, looking at Lydia with impatience

"What’s in Stiles’ mind? Nothing but  _memories_. It’s all he  _can_  see. If we can access any of his memories- or an emotion related to one- we might have a better chance of getting him back.” She folded her arms across her chest and matched Peter’s posture.

“That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.” Peter scoffed.

“You don’t get to have a say in this. He isn’t your friend.” Derek snapped, glaring at his uncle. He had let his uncle get away with some terrible things in the past, but this wasn’t going to be one of them. Peter was going to help Stiles even if it meant Derek would have to hold him down and do it himself. “You’re just here to do what they say. And they are telling you to do this for them. For  _Stiles.”_

“And if I don’t?”

“I will personally drag you down to the gates of hell. By my teeth.” Malia growled, flashing her sharp canines. Peter met Malia’s eyes and looked as though he wanted to laugh in her face and rebut her threat entirely, but after a split second of staring, he began to look impressed with his daughter; she was threatening bodily harm to someone for almost not doing what she wanted. Like father, like daughter.

“I suppose I could do a  _little_  something.” Peter said, turning back to Scott. He flicked his claws out and grinned crookedly as he tested the sharpness of each nail. “Well then. Who wants to go first?”

* * *

 

_Scott’s head was beginning to hurt from hanging upside for so long; his eyes felt like they were pushing against their sockets and his entire face felt hot and swollen. It was extremely uncomfortable, but Stiles insisted on it being an effective way to study. So there they were, hanging upside on his bed, studying for Scott’s chemistry Mid-term. Which he was in no way going to pass, Stiles was just being a good friend. Per usual._

_“Alright, Scotty. Question number ten. What is the periodic table trend for decreasing atomic radius? You have thirty seconds.” Stiles asked, hanging the textbook in front of his face._

_“Atomic Radius?” Scott echoed. “Uh… I don’t know? Up and to the right?” Scott guessed the first thing that came to mind and waited for Stiles to make his fake buzzer noise to signal an incorrect answer. Scott closed his eyes and waited, but instead was answered by a long drawn-out silence from Stiles. Which was not a common occurrence. Scott_ **_definitely_ ** _wasn’t going to pass._

_“I-I don’t actually have a sound for when you get a question right.” Stiles laughed. “But you got it! You nailed that question! Up and to the right, go Scotty!”_

_“One out of ten. Not exactly the best results, Stiles.” Scott sighed, banging his head softly against the bed frame. “I’m gonna fail this test.”_

_“No- hey c’mon, Scott. You’ll get the hang of it! It’s just a little memorization. You’ll get it.” Stiles assured him, reaching over and blindly trying to pat him on the leg but instead just slapping Scott’s stomach._

_“That’s easy for you to say. You are great at Chemistry.”`_

_“That’s the Adderall, Scott. My inability to focus and remain sitting still begs to differ.” Stiles replied, nudging Scott with his foot. “Come on, it’ll be fine. We’ll take a little break- since my eyes are killing me and reading is becoming more difficult than electron configurations- and then we’ll get right back into things. You’ll do great. I promise.”_

_Scott sighed heavily and let Stiles attempt to cheer him up as he rolled off his bed and stood on his own two feet, walking over and falling into his desk chair. Stiles remained hanging and watched Scott mope around, avoiding the stacked textbooks on each surface in his room- Scott wasn’t sure how Stiles wasn’t getting dizzy, passing out, or getting uncomfortable from remaining upside for so long. Scott rolled his eyes as Stiles hummed quietly and kicked his feet, seemingly enjoying all the blood rushing to his head._

_After a while, Scott got dizzy just_ **_watching_ ** **** _Stiles and had to do something else. He walked around the room, placing things back on selves, picking up trinkets he and Stiles had knocked over being idiots thirty minutes prior, pushing things under his bed all while navigating around Stiles- who was still hanging off his bed, but no longer enjoying his time doing so; Scott could tell Stiles was mulling something over and trying to approach the subject with him subtly. Scott wanted to say something to prompt a conversation, but found that waiting for Stiles to start the conversation was the best way to get any results; if you startled Stiles with any questions, he would just start rambling and shutting him up would take a few hours. Over a decade of friendship and Scott still didn’t have that skill mastered._

_“Hey Scott?” Stiles said, lacing his fingers together and placing them on his stomach. “Can I ask you a question about when you were with Allison?”_

_“With Allison or_ ** _with_**   _Allison?” Scott asked, raising an eyebrow. Stiles had asked Scott sex questions before- they_ ** _were_** _best friends after all- but Stiles still got uncomfortable with it considering he asked because ‘Textbooks can only teach you so much, Scott’._

_“_ **_Dating_ ** **** _Allison. I learned enough from your crude diagram session last week, Scott. I’m not looking for anything else here. Just a little conversation- and no drawings."_

_“Alright, deal.” Scott laughed, sitting down in his desk chair across from Stiles and crossing his arms in front of his chest. “What’s up?”_

_Stiles cleared his throat and parted his lips slowly, hesitating only a second longer before speaking. “How… How did you know Allison would come back? How did you know she would come back to the pack- to_ **_you_ ** _?” Stiles asked, his serious expression still translating to Scott from its upside position._

_Stiles was referring the time Allison went on a violence spree fueled by rage caused by her mother’s suicide that was a result of being bitten and almost turning into a werewolf. How did Scott know if Allison would return to ‘their side’? How did Scott never lose hope for Allison? How did Scott know that in his heart of hearts, Allison was just grieving, and once in a while people just lost their way? He and Allison were_ **_soul mates_ ** _, forgetting what life was like without each other and barely knowing how they survived each day apart. There was no question Allison would come back. Scott just always knew. Not that Scott could just say that as an answer. Using the soul mates excuse was possibly the oldest and most annoying excuse in the book. Scott figured he could disguise his answer until he got to the bottom of Stiles’ inquiry._

_“I had a little hope, that’s all. Allison isn’t a bad person, Stiles. We both know that. She was going to come back. She just needed to find a little ‘justice’. Gerard was half her problem, anyway. Once he was exposed, there was no question. I could just see it in her.” Scott pieced together a vague enough response that seemed to satisfy Stiles for a moment, making him nod his head and ponder Scott’s advice._

_Scott smiled stupidly to himself as he felt pride swell up in his chest; he helped_ **_Stiles_ ** _with a problem for once. Successfully. And without causing his to shout at the top of his lungs that he didn’t need anymore ‘goddamn diagrams’._

_“But what if you can’t get a good read on them?” Stiles rebutted, causing Scott’s prideful posture to collapse and make him feel far less confident in his abilities to help others. Apparently True Alpha powers did not extend to friendship advice._

_“I don’t know… Just go with your gut?” Scott offered, shrugging. In response, Stiles sighed, rolled onto his stomach, and hid his face in Scott’s comforter as he groaned in defeat._

_“But what if your gut is telling you to not worry about it, but all they are doing is shit that plays with your heart and makes you question everything you ever thought about the relationship because all they are doing is showing interest in other people, not answering your calls and-”_

_Scott cut Stiles off by reaching forward and touching his back- as if touching the snooze button on an alarm clock. When Scott silenced Stiles, he didn’t seem to notice the next thing on Stiles’ list was ‘go away to South America with their fucking_ **_sister_ ** _’._

_“Don’t worry about it. It’ll be okay.” Scott cooed, rubbing Stiles' back. “It will all work out.”_

_“You think?” Stiles asked, turning his head to the side to look at Scott. Stiles’ eyes stared up at him with a strange mix of optimism and desperation Scott wasn’t sure what to do with. Why would Stiles be so unsure of himself?_

_“Uh, yeah.” Scott nodded. “I’m sure Lydia will come around.” Stiles’ face fell and his eyes dropped back to the floor before Scott could even give Stiles a reassuring slap on the back. Scott had dropped the ball- but he wasn’t sure how. He was only trying to help. “I mean, Aiden is just a flash in the pan. He’s an alpha, he’s built, he’s an athlete- just give her time. She’ll be back.”_

_“Yeah. I guess.” Stiles muttered, turning his head back and letting himself hang over the edge of Scott’s bed, lifeless and seemingly defeated._

_Scott wished he hadn’t said anything to Stiles. Within a matter of minutes, Stiles had gone from bubbly and humorous, to still and completely silent- neither were characteristics Stiles was able of handling naturally thanks to his ADHD. Yet, Stiles merely groaned in response when Scott asked if he was okay, feeling around for the chemistry textbook and pushing their conversation back into the realm of academics and not his broken heart. He barely said anything as Scott muddled through concept after chemistry concept, barely pronouncing the elements correctly- some he did incorrectly just to see what Stiles would do. Scott somehow found a way to pronounce ‘Carbon’ incorrectly, but there was still nothing. Stiles barely batted an eye. He just stared down at Scott’s textbook, paging through the examples and review questions tiredly. Scott couldn’t tell if his brain was preoccupied or had simply stopped dead in its tracks._

_“Stiles?” Scott asked, nudging the book away from Stiles’ hands with his foot. “You alright, man?”_

_“Yeah. I’m just a little- confused that’s all. I thought I knew this stuff but I’m looking at it- and I mean_ **_really_ ** _looking at it- and it turns out I don’t know anything! I don’t know a damn thing and I’ve been lying to myself this whole time and now I’m staring down this midterm completely unprepared and without any idea of what to do next. I am entirely clueless about everything.” Stiles cried, slamming the book closed and covering his face with his shaking hands. “I am just so clueless. I thought I knew it, but I don’t. I thought I knew what I was dealing with, but I_ **_don’t_.** _I don’t know anything. I’m just some dumb teenager.”_

_As his room faded to black, Scott had the strangest feeling that Stiles_ **_wasn’t_ ** _talking about chemistry anymore._

* * *

 

Scott came to with a loud, silence shattering gasp as he resurfaced from his comatose state, alert and panicked. He barely waited for Peter to pull his claws from his neck before he was clambering out of his chair and storming towards the pack.

“Lydia!” Scott said, still trying to catch his breath. “Stiles wasn’t talking about Lydia.”

“Excuse me.” Lydia asked, furrowing her eyebrows and looking at everyone else. “I-I don’t follow, Scott."

“Stiles. He wasn’t talking about Chemistry. And he wasn’t talking about Lydia either.” Scott repeated, shaking his head and pacing the lake house floor. “He was probably  _never_  talking about Lydia now that I think about it…. We’ve been wrong this whole time.”

 _Once again_ , Scott was giving information without any background or gauge to how severe the new information should be taken. The entire room just stood in silence, waiting for Scott to collect himself and decode his cryptic sentences. They had learned to become very patient with their alpha.

“How could he have  _not_  been talking about Lydia?” Scott muttered, rubbing his forehead and speaking only to himself. “This whole time…. Not Lydia- but  _Derek_.”

“What about me?” Derek asked, stepping forward almost a little  _too_  eagerly.

“Yes, what  _about_  Derek.” Peter said skeptically, squinting at Scott; he saw everything Scott saw and must’ve been trying to piece Scott’s messages together, but with no more success than everyone else in the room.

“That’s who Stiles was asking about. He was asking about Derek. The stuff with Allison, the chemistry, the teenager comment- it was  _all_  about Derek.” Scott continued, still sounding confused. Even though Scott wasn’t quite there yet, Peter’s face stilled into a state of shock, leading Scott slowly to a conclusion. “Oh.”

“What? What is it?” Kira asked, egging Scott on. He was starting to make even less sense the more he spoke.

“Stiles isn’t in love with Lydia.” Scott said plainly, turning to face Kira.

That seemed to make sense for everyone in the room. There needed to be no explanation and no context. Everyone understood Scott’s implications. The room froze and slowly turned to look at Stiles, who was still propped in a chair and staring off into nothingness, and then slowly came back to Derek. The five sets of eyes continued to gawk at Derek for much longer than he would have liked. After the first five seconds he felt ridiculously uncomfortable and wished that someone would either look away, or  _say something_.

“This _whole_ time?” Peter asked, speaking only to Scott and in reference to Scott’s memory. Peter didn’t seem shocked as much as he just seemed incredulous as to _how long_ Stiles and Derek had been playing their little game. “All his teenager melodrama has been about my ridiculously bitter nephew?”

“Stiles is not melodramatic.” Derek rebutted, immediately regretting his decision to speak on the topic. He always felt the need to come to Stiles’ defense in front of his uncle. Derek has had to rationalize complete stupidity because of that boy, but he totally didn’t mind. “He is just very… enthusiastic.”  _Derek, honestly. Shut the fuck up. You aren’t helping your own case._

“Right. Because every new discovery in a pack investigation is ‘top priority’ and needs to be handled  _right then and there_  no matter what time of the night it is? That is melodramatic, really-no-need-to-be-doing-this teenager shit if I have ever seen it.” Peter sneered, rolling his eyes.

Derek hated to admit it, even to just himself, but Peter was right. Stiles could have waited until morning to tell Derek all his new information. Stiles didn’t have to come over to Derek’s house in his pajamas and spend the entire night explaining things he heard on the police scanner before falling asleep on Derek’s couch. Stiles didn’t have to, but did all those things because he was just some ridiculous teenager pining over  _Derek_. Stiles was just some in love teenager, making excuses to come over, talking to him about nonsense for hours, and leaving his sweatshirt in Derek’s loft by ‘accident’. This whole time, Stiles was genuinely  _in love with Derek_  and wasn’t just having weird feelings that could ‘ _maybe classify as a crush. I don’t know, Derek- don’t look at me like that, you judgmental piece of shit. I am pouring my heart out here and you are remaining_ ** _dead_** ** _silent_** _’._

It struck Derek again that he never responded to Stiles’ confession. Derek never told Stiles about how secretly he didn’t mind being woken up at four in the morning to the sound of Stiles’ loud voice and clumsy unmistakable walking pattern, how he liked when Stiles made wolf puns and awful jokes that no one appreciated because they really were awful, or how Derek secretly went to some of his lacrosse games to watch Stiles (attempt to) play because goddamnit _someone_ had to cheer him on. Derek never told Stiles any of that. Instead, he just told Stiles he was a dumb teenager.

On countless occasions, not pertaining to their relationship, Derek would roll his eyes, push Stiles softly and mutter how Stiles was a ‘dumb teenager’ for either worrying about school, girls, lacrosse, his Jeep, or sometimes Derek. Derek insulted Stiles, unintentionally, for caring about him and for caring about his pack and  _himself_. Derek knew what his feelings were, but Stiles didn’t. And now he may never.

“Derek?” Scott said slowly, touching his shoulder hesitantly and bringing him back to the situation at hand. “Derek, are you okay?”

Derek couldn’t find any words to respond with. Yet again, in the face of a confession about the feelings between him and Stiles, he was silent. Derek wasn’t sure what he could say at this point. He couldn’t say he loved him too- Stiles wasn’t anywhere  _near_  them, mentally, he’d never hear Derek and it would just be wasted breath. But Derek couldn’t just live another day saying nothing to Stiles. Stiles was in enough pain and misery, the last thing Derek could do was attempt a conversation. With someone who would never talk back.

“Do you think he can even hear us?” Derek asked softly, advancing towards Stiles with slow, careful steps.

“I doubt it.” Lydia responded softly, touching Derek’s arm with a form of silent apology. “He hasn’t  _really_  been with us for a couple days. It’s mostly just his body…”

“Like he’s dead.” Derek could feel his entire body tense up as all the heat ran from his face.

“Hey! H-He’s not though.” Scott jumped in, walking up to Derek and grabbing him by the shoulders and getting him to refocus. “Stiles isn’t dead. Stiles is very much alive.”

“Come on, Scott. Look at him.” Peter said, motioning towards Stiles slouched over in his chair. “Maybe Derek’s finally accepting what you won’t.

“No.” Scott said defiantly. “He’s not dying. Stiles is still there. We wouldn’t have seen that memory if he wasn’t in there _somewhere_.” Scott was fighting for that last thread of hope and was not about to let it slip from between his fingers. “He’s here. And now we have a new plan.”

“New plan?” Peter echoed, almost entertained. “What? Derek?”

Derek immediately turned his head to look at Scott, silently asking if they were _really_ going to pursue the feelings kept hidden between him and Stiles as a way to defeat a demonic spirit.

“What else do we have?” Scott replied, looking at his pack and turning away from Peter. “We’ve tried everyone- everything- I think Derek’s our best shot.” _Wow. Okay. No pressure. Derek just had to become completely emotionally visible for this plan to go smoothly_.

“Are you sure this is a good plan?” Derek mumbled, looking beside him at the rest of the pack.

“I think it’s a great idea.” Lydia replied. “I don’t think we trust anyone more.” She smiled, touching Derek’s shoulder. “I don’t think _Stiles_ trusts anyone more; all he needs is a beacon of hope- something familiar to pull him back. If he feels _that_ strongly about you, and we get you involved- we give you a plan- you can bring him back.”

“Are you saying that as a banshee or an optimist?” Derek asked, still hesitant.

“I’m saying it as someone who wouldn’t lie to you.” Lydia replied, her expression motionless and without a trace of hesitation. “Now are you going to help or not?”

“I’ll help.” Derek replied quickly. “I’ll do anything.” At the moment, Derek could see his uncle looking at him begrudgingly, but Derek couldn’t bring himself feel any shame; he had a way to redeem himself and set everything right for Stiles, the pack, and the Sheriff. Derek wasn’t going to let it pass by. He was determined to help Stiles and save what ever was left of him.


	6. Just Sick

The morning of Allison’s funeral, Stiles was in the worst condition Derek had seen so far; by the time Scott and Derek walked into his room to wake him, Stiles was far gone in another terrifying panic attack and seizure hybrid. Stiles was on his side, lying in his bed, tangled up in his blankets as he convulsed violently, spitting up as his eyes rolled back in his head. Scott kept saying Stiles' name, calling after him and trying to stop him from contorting his body and eventually hurting himself, but every cry was in vain. Stiles was far beyond their reach and they could only wait until Stiles was released from his attack to get him back.

Scott and Derek waited half an hour before Stiles finally stopped. And after he resurfaced from his questionable panic attack, Derek noticed a lack of consciousness from Stiles; there wasn’t a moment where Derek thought for a naive second that he was back, that he had gotten his head above the swirling tempest surrounding him. Stiles was still underwater, drowning, only his ability to hold his breath, and fight the urge to let the water in, keeping him alive. But he’d  _have_  to breathe sometime. He’d  _have_  to let the water in. And Derek had a feeling that moment was approaching much faster than the pack anticipated.

Even though Scott had managed to get him into a suit, Stiles was in no condition to leave the house and be presented in public- especially if that ‘public’ was the judgmental eye of the entire Argent family from every corner of the world. The pack  _still_ planned on taking Stiles, even after his attack that morning, causing Derek to voice his unpopular opinions to the pack; the Argents did  _not_  want to see the boy that ordered Allison to be killed. It just wouldn’t have gone well.

“They’ll  _kill_  him.” Derek insisted for the fifth time. “I’ve seen what the Argents can do. And I’m sure it doesn’t just stop with arson, Scott.”

“Mr. Argent won’t let anything happen to Stiles. He knows  _Stiles_ didn’t kill her.” Scott rebutted, sounding genuine and  _completely_  naïve.

“I’m not saying they will blame Stiles for Allison’s death-”

“Which some do.” Lydia chimed in from her seat at the dining table.

“Not the point, Lydia.” Derek said, shaking his head. “My point is Stiles is  _possessed._  The Argents are hunters. I’m sure they have ways to  _fix_  that. Ways we don't exactly  _agree_  with.”

“Look,” Scott said, putting his hands in his suit jacket pockets. “Stiles and Allison were friends too. I know it never seemed like they spoke, but they were good friends; Stiles deserves to go to this funeral, even if he  _isn’t_  there.” Scott looked over at Stiles, leaning against Malia’s side with his eyes glazed over and breathing shallow. “Stiles needs closure too. He deserves it.”

Derek knew he couldn’t argue against Scott anymore- it would be rude to refuse an already broken teenage boy closure for a death he inadvertently caused while being possessed by a demon spirit. He couldn’t argue against Scott and tell him Stiles didn’t deserve to grieve, even it wasn't really _Stiles_  making the funeral appearance.

Derek was seconds from swallowing his pride and just agreeing with Scott when Malia interrupted, suddenly shouting in the otherwise silent house and scrambling to keep Stiles standing. Derek looked over and saw Stiles violently vomiting up thick, black blood all over himself. Scott was the next to Stiles in seconds, easing him into a chair and not caring about the blood getting on his suit as he wiped Stiles’ mouth and attempted to calm him down.

“It’s okay, Stiles. You’re okay. We’re all here with you. You’re fine.” Scott was barely convincing himself, let alone Stiles. “You’re okay, Stiles. Just- let it all out.”

Stiles didn’t even seem  _there_  as he continued coughing up black bile. His eyes were completely dead as he hunched forward and got blood  _all_  down the front of Scott, shuddering and gagging the entire time. Usually, Derek would see Stiles’ eye dart around in confusion, unaware of his surroundings and being down right terrified, but Derek saw nothing. He saw no life. Whatever was inside of Stiles was becoming more in control. He was now more monster than boy.

“We can’t go to the funeral.” Scott said, using his own sleeve to wipe up Stiles’ chin. “We can’t take him there like this. He’s too sick.” At first, Derek thought Scott was merely stating the obvious, but then he noticed the word ‘ _sick_ ’- as if there was a cure. As if Stiles had come down with the flu and had to stay home, sleep, and drink fluids. Stiles wasn’t sick, he was  _dying_. And Derek seemed to be the only one in the room that could admit that. Sure, they probably knew Stiles  _was_  dying, they just couldn’t see that maybe this  _was_  the moment.

“Why is it black? Why is the blood black?” Malia cried, backing away from Scott and Stiles and finding comfort clutching the armrest of Lydia’s chair. “Human blood isn’t supposed to be black.”

“Well, Stiles isn’t exactly human right now…” Lydia muttered, watching Stiles fall forward onto Scott’s shoulder. “To be honest, Malia, I’m not even sure what he is.”

“For now, let’s just hope he’s  _alive_.” Derek said shortly, joining Scott’s side and helping sit Stiles upright. As Stiles regained use of his spine, keeping himself up straight, his face contorted in discomfort. Derek thought at first it was from Stiles’ rigid posture, but soon his jaw dropped and a new red substance came dribbling from his lips and onto his lap. Blood. Actual red, color-of-a-living-creature, Derek-could-smell-it-from-eight-blocks-away,  _blood_. Human blood. The pack collectively stopped moving and marveled at the slight glimmer of hope that was staining Stiles’ shirt; he was still human  _somewhere_. The pack seemed to be relieved. Until Stiles didn’t  _stop_  throwing it up.

He  _couldn’t_  stop. Stiles kept coughing up more and more mixtures of black slime and human blood, making Lydia rush to the kitchen for the telephone after a quick look of doubt from Scott. Derek could hear her impatiently tapping her foot as she dialed the number of the sheriff’s station, who told her Stiles’ father was out due to an accident on the highway, and then call Melissa’s cell while she was at the hospital, which she didn’t pick up either. Derek heard Lydia call each number three more times, telling the Deputy that answered the Sheriff’s phone to tell Stiles’ father it was her:  _Lydia_ _Martin and the pack. Yes. I said pack- Just tell him, okay? Tell him it's about Stiles. Thank you._

Scott turned his head to hold Lydia’s gaze as she came out of the kitchen, shoulders hunched and with no good news. They hadn’t ever considered being left alone with something this severe. Sure, the group of high school teenagers in front of Derek had dealt with some serious situations in the past few months all on their own, but this was different; Stiles was no longer in their control or realm of expertise for them to be qualified to help him. And now all their go-tos were busy.

“Well, what do we do now?” Malia asked finally, shrugging off her blazer and using it as a rag to clean up Stiles. “Who do we call? Can we call Deaton? My dad?"

“No. Deaton wouldn’t know what to do with this kind of thing. Possession isn’t his forte.” Scott said, shaking his head quickly. “And honestly I don’t think it’s anyone’s…”

“What about my mom? I can get her over here if you need.” Kira offered, pulling her cell phone from her pocket, ready to dial. Ready to do _something_.

“No. Stiles needs a hospital.” Lydia and Scott looked at each other again. Derek could see in their matched pained expressions that they had already discussed the possibility of Stiles needing actual medical attention before this moment in time. Derek recognized only the deepest forms of heartbreak on Scott’s face as he stood and wiped his hands on his pants, nodding at Lydia’s suggestion.

“We have to take him to the hospital. He’s too sick.” Again, the comparison to Stiles being sick. Not dying, the final stage from which there is no return, just sick. Not even a fate of spending eternity behind rubber walls slowly losing your mind, getting lost  _in_  your mind, and only seeing glimpses of reality through a warped, fun house looking glass- just  _sick_.

“We have to go.” Derek said, watching a mixture of black and red goo drip from the corners of Stiles’ mouth as he struggled for an even breath. Time was running out. “We have to take him there  _now_.”

“We can take my car. Somebody grab him while I pull around.” Lydia said, taking off with Kira for her car. Malia and Scott stepped forward and scooped Stiles out of his chair, attempting to balance him on his feet and walk him forward. Within the first few steps, he was curling in on himself, sinking to his knees and falling in and out of consciousness.

“Hey! Hey Stiles- Come on! G-Get up!” Scott coaxed, trying to hold up his right side and continue walking forward. Even with all his alpha strength, Stiles had turned to dead weight and neither Malia nor Scott could get him to go another inch. “Come on, just a couple more feet, Stiles. I need you to work with me here…” Scott muttered, putting himself in Stiles’ line of vision. “Stiles, please.”

“I’ve got him.” Derek stepped in and touched Scott’s shoulder, breaking his attempted eye contact with the last trace of his best friend within the human-shaped shell he was supporting with one arm. “Scott, I can get him. Don’t worry about it. I’ve got him.” Derek wasn’t really referring to just his weight and being able to carry Stiles; Scott had to hear from someone that Stiles was going into their care and that it was no longer _his responsibility_. Everything was falling apart so fast, Derek not only had to care for Stiles, he had to make sure Scott stayed together as well. “Keep it together, Scott. We’ve got him.”

Scott nodded quickly before fixing his stained sleeves and walking to the front door and holding it open for Derek. Scott trailed behind Derek as he slowly maneuvered Stiles to Lydia’s car. Stiles wasn’t taking steps on his own and Derek was forced to drag him along the sidewalk and grass, lifting his feet up as high as he could reach, while still keeping Stiles standing upright- and avoiding skin to skin contact; the last thing they needed was Stiles having another horrible physical reaction from Derek’s presence.

With Scott and Kira’s help, Derek was able to climb into Lydia’s car, Stiles lying across his lap as well as Scott's and Malia’s. As Lydia drove, Derek watched with numbing horror as Stiles paled and slowly lost all last traces of consciousness, going limp, but still vomiting up black blood. Strictly black blood. They were losing Stiles fast.

“How far until the hospital?” Derek asked, trying to look out the windows and get an idea of where they were in town.

“Almost there. Just try and keep him with us.” Lydia said, stepping on the gas and going through a red light. Derek wanted to be the responsible adult in the car, but the boy that was not-so secretly in love with him was dying in his arms and he couldn’t bring himself to care. Not now.

“Hey, Stiles? Hey man. What’s going on with you today? Stay with us- Come on. Stay with us.” Scott spoke to Stiles softly, as if Stiles was merely falling asleep during an all-nighter sleepover, and not slipping behind the veil of death. “Come on, Stiles. Do something.” Unfortunately, the only thing Stiles did to show a steady pulse and refusal to fall into eternal sleep was start convulsing. Scott grabbed Stiles’ legs and braced everyone for a retake of that morning’s attack. Derek was carefully holding his chest down, when Stiles' eyes suddenly focused and came alive. They looked around the car frantically, finally landing on Derek. Stiles’ entire face seemed to relax as he registered the person staring back at him. Derek froze as Stiles  _finally_  made eye contact with him. Stiles was  _seeing him_. He knew who was there. Derek was about to take Stiles’ hand, assuring him that he was really there, when Stiles winked at him, his mouth splitting in a crooked, twisted smile.

“We’re here! We’re here! Everyone out!” Lydia cried, slamming on the brakes and causing Derek to break his eye contact with the monster in his arms. By the time Derek looked back, Stiles’ eyes had rolled back into his head, not looking anywhere but at the nightmare being shown to him. Derek didn’t make a motion to move at first. He felt numb and empty. He felt  _used;_  Derek had never felt so much hope flood his body at once. He had never felt time stop before, everything slowing as Derek got lost in Stiles' suddenly  _alive_  eyes. He had never had such a high followed by such a blow to the stomach, and slap of reality.

“Derek? Y-You okay?” Derek had been staring for a while. Usually, no one could stomach looking at Stiles for that long, but Derek just couldn’t take his eyes off of him. He wanted to know just  _who_  he was looking at.

“I’m fine… Let’s just get him inside.” Derek mumbled, shaking his head and helping get Stiles out of the car and onto his feet. He didn’t stay standing for very long. Derek took one step towards the hospital and Stiles collapsed, his legs crumbling under him while the rest of his body went limp. “Stiles, come on. Don’t do this now.” Derek resorted to talking to the body in his arms in complete desperation to reach the person that was supposed to be in it. “You need to get help- Stiles Stilinski, do not fight me on this.” Derek hoisted Stiles up one more time, slipping his arm under Stiles’ knees and carrying him towards the hospital’s front doors, not giving Stiles- or the demon inside of him- a choice.

Scott led the charge towards the hospital, calling out to the nurses on the first floor that they needed help- any help they could get. But there seemed to be no immediate response to the group of distressed teenagers rushing into their waiting room; Scott’s voice was being drowned out by the frantic rush of doctors tending to victims of a three car pile up; the accident the Sheriff was out covering. Stiles was already the last priority in the hospital.

“Help! We need some help over here!” Lydia cried, reaching banshee level screaming, but still remaining ignored. “He’s bleeding… I think.” Lydia muttered, looking back at Stiles and biting her lip. What  _was_  he doing? What could they say to explain what was happening to their friend? There was black  _slime_  oozing from his mouth and now his nose, he was shivering, his muscles were involuntarily twitching every so often, and he was barely conscious. Derek hadn’t been to med school as of late, but he was positive those symptoms didn’t add up to anything seen in a medical journal.

“We shouldn’t have brought him here.” Derek said to himself, looking down at Stiles. “We shouldn’t have brought him here. It’s not safe. They’ll send him away. If he comes out of it while he’s here-”

They would send Stiles away in a heartbeat if he came out of his demonic possession in the emergency room surrounded by doctors.

That was it. That was what the Nogitsune had been planning; he was making Stiles physically ill, which would warrant medical assistance, meaning the group of inexperienced teenagers would have to seek help of the non-supernatural. Once under the care of scared, young interns, the Nogitsune could push Stiles back into reality, yank him out of the water, and watch him flounder on land, spouting crazy things about werewolves and demons and open doors into minds. They would have him committed within the hour. And then Stiles would be as far away from the pack, from Derek, as he possibly could. The Nogitsune could take Stiles back again once he was safely behind the gates of Eichen House and make his warped reality even more of a hell. He could kill Stiles- or worse, have Stiles kill himself- and none of them could stop him. The Nogitsune had been planning this all along, keeping it completely secret to all of them, but it only took one wink to give it all away.

“We have to get out of here!” Derek yelled to Kira, nodding his head towards the door. “We can’t be here. Not now.”

“Derek, he needs to be here.” She argued, grabbing Scott’s arm and pulling him into the conversation. “Stiles  _has_  to get help… We can’t help him anymore.”

“We can’t let him stay here. If he’s here, they can commit him. If he’s with us, he’s safe.” Derek insisted, holding Stiles closer to himself. “I can’t let them take Stiles.”

For the entirety of Derek’s return from South America, helping Stiles has been a pack effort, but in a single sentence, Derek let them know how personal the cause was to him. Sure, they found out the two of them were in love not too long ago, but this time, they were hearing it directly from the horse’s mouth. They were hearing from Derek just how much he couldn’t live without Stiles. How badly he needed Stiles to live, or at least just _stop_   _vomiting up ominous black fluids_.

Stiles was Derek’s anchor, and losing his anchor meant Derek would be untethered from reality and start drifting, lost and disoriented for the rest of his time Derek spent on the miserable, harsh world that seemed to always want to punish him. Losing Stiles wasn’t an option. It would destroy Derek to his very core, and now they all knew. His heart was on his sleeve and he wasn’t going to apologize. Or let them keep Stiles in the hospital.

“Scott, find your mom and have her meet us at Lydia’s car. Have her bring a sedative.”

“A sedative? What’s that going to do?” Malia asked, closing in the circle forming around Stiles, secluding their conversation from the chaos around them. “Won’t that put him to sleep?”

“That’s the point.” Derek told her. “Scott, can you do that?”

“Yeah. I guess I can- Just, tell me why.” Scott insisted, his voice even and eye contact steady. “What are you going to do to  _my_  best friend?” Scott was sure to remind Derek that it was _still_ a pack effort.

“Make it so the Nogitsune can’t go anywhere.” Derek explained. “When he’s asleep, he’s fine, right? All the times he's slept next to any one of you, he’s still and motionless. Sure what’s in his head is probably terrifying, but that’s because that’s the only place he has to go- the Nogitsune too. It’s when he wakes up things go badly. If we can keep Stiles asleep until we figure out what we need to do, we might be able to buy us some time, okay?"

“Okay.” Lydia agreed, nodding her head and looking at the rest of the group. “It’s the only plan we’ve got.” The rest of the pack nodded and Scott left with Kira and Malia to track down his mother among the bedlam while Lydia and Derek retreated to her car, being careful to wipe the panicked expressions off their faces as they passed doctors and nurses on their way out.

Lydia was helping Derek get Stiles into the backseat when her cell phone started ringing in the front seat. Derek urged her to answer it while he finished propping Stiles up in the seats, making sure his head was straight up and there wasn’t a chance he could choke on the blood that was still evenly streaming down his chin.

“It’s the Sheriff.” She read, looking at Derek nervously. “Should I answer it?” Derek answered by accepting the call on her phone before handing it back to her. “Hello? Sheriff! Yeah, we have him with us- Y-You’re at the house? Oh. Yeah. That’s nothing you should worry about. It’s just a little blood. Yes- Yes, I know it’s black. I- He’s fine. He’s with us and he’s fine, Mr. Stilinski. I promise. Derek and I have him right now… And Melissa is on her way. Everything’s fine.” Lydia nodded her head towards Scott and his mother running towards her car before assuring Stiles’ dad of his son’s safety one more time before hanging up. “Looks like we’ve got the whole team back on standby.” She noted to Derek, seeming visibly more relaxed. The Sheriff was waiting for them and Melissa had the sedative in her hand, ready to administer it at their command. They were in control now. They had the upper hand.

“I brought two syringes. Just in case we need to  _really_  knock him out.” Melissa said, stopping in front of Derek.

“You brought  _two_  syringes with your  _strongest_  sedative?” Lydia asked, looking at the needles in the woman’s hand.

“We’re dealing with supernatural things. The last you need to be is to be under prepared.” She replied, taking the cap off the first needle.

“Thank god your son is a werewolf.” Derek muttered, opening the car door and letting her get to Stiles.

Stiles was still shaking subtly as Melissa climbed into the car next to him, carefully rolling up his shirt sleeve. Stiles was virtually still as Melissa rolled up his sleeve, but the minute her fingers touched the needle, Stiles seemed to suddenly come alert, his eyes finding Melissa. Derek knew that look. While the entire pack stopped and held their breath at Stiles’ sudden ‘return to consciousness’, Derek knew it was only going to end with trouble. He could already see the sparkle in the Nogitsune’s eyes.

Before Derek could even warn Melissa, Stiles had her by the throat, choking her with previously unseen strength. Scott immediately jumped in the car, trying to pry Stiles’ hand off his mother’s neck. The rest of the pack watched in a mix of horror and confusion as they tried to decide whether piling in the back of the car would be better or worse for the current situation. All they could do was stand around and listen to Melissa choke, and Scott screaming at his best friend to stop trying to kill his mother.

“Stiles- Stiles  _stop it!_  This is my  _mom_ \- and your mom too! Stop!” Scott yelled, using his feet to kick Stiles into the door and pull his mom away.

It was the first time Derek saw Scott use violence against Stiles. Derek could see Scott's glowing eyes as he grabbed the needle from his mother’s shaking hand. He plunged it into Stiles' chest, injecting the medicine without a second thought, and knocking Stiles out cold in seconds. Scott got out of the car silently, dropping the syringe and letting his shaking hands hang by his sides. His eyes were still a fiery crimson as he closed the car door behind his mother, not looking at Stiles collapsed in the backseat.

"Scott, it's okay. You did Stiles a favor." His mom coaxed, holding him by the shoulders and trying to sooth his glowing eyes away. "Scott, you did the right thing."

"That's not Stiles." Scott muttered to his mother, shaking his head. "That isn't Stiles anymore. I don't know  _who_  that is, but it isn't my best friend; that's not the kid I grew up with, that's not the kid that used to fawn over Lydia Martin every day at lunch freshman year, that's not the person we're trying to save. I don't even know if that person's there anymore."


	7. Forget Me Not

Stiles woke in his bed, drenched in sweat and feeling like something was looped around his neck, slowly growing tighter. He sat up gasping for air and grabbing at the sheets around him, trying to ground himself, trying to find out what was real and what wasn’t. His vision was blurring and his room was coming in and out of focus very quickly. He loosened his grip on his mattress, only for a second, to count the fingers on his trembling, frail hands. Five on one, five on the other. So he wasn’t dreaming, but that still didn’t mean what Stiles was seeing was reality.

Granted, Stiles wasn't exactly sure what was going on with his perception and the reality surrounding him, but he knew it wasn’t to be trusted. He knew that the figure floating in and out of his mind, visiting in the form of violent hallucinations was an old enemy, the Nogitsune. But Stiles wasn’t sure how to prove or disprove what he saw; it wasn’t as easy as last time. Before, Stiles had his friends immersed with him in the warped world he was living. But now, Stiles was in isolation from his friends. He’d see them, obviously near and with him, but never able to interact or even look them in the eye. Each time one of his friends was around him, the wrapped figure- occasionally disguised as Stiles - would distort the world surrounding him; snapping his fingers and making Stiles go blind, only hearing the demented laughter of his captor or pulling aside furniture and punching through walls to have dirt pour onto the floor, leaving the Nogitsune to convince Stiles he had been buried alive. Stiles had been convinced he was truly dead and sitting in hell about a dozen times, each time ending with Stiles having a near fatal panic attack and the Nogitsune bursting out into hearty chuckles while Stiles tried to regain body and brain function. Even though it happened everyday, and nothing Stiles witnessed was to be taken seriously or with any grain of truth, it was the only reality Stiles had, and he had to live in it. He had to survive, and that started with determining what world he woke up in. And sometimes that was the hardest part of living in his head.

For the time being though, his room was real and so was he. He wasn’t hallucinating. Not yet. It was safe. Well, at least Stiles _felt_ as much. He slowly swung his legs over the edge of the bed and placed his bare feet on the floor. As he attempted to stand, he expected extreme muscle cooperation difficulties, but as Stiles rose to his feet, he only faltered initially. Stiles though, refused to test his luck and took slow, steady steps around his room, holding onto furniture as an extra precaution as he went for the door. His hands shook as he grabbed the door knob, slowly turning it, scared and unsure of what could be on the other side of it; Stiles had opened doors to morgues, Eichen House, and literal pits of hell. But, as the door swung open, he was greeted only by his home’s dimly lit hallway. And the familiar sound of a woman’s voice, humming a nostalgic melody downstairs.

Stiles leaned over the railing to give himself a better listen to the crystal clear voice beckoning him; usually he couldn’t hear the pack’s voices so clear. Usually it sounded like Stiles was underwater, straining to make out full sentences and distinct voices.

“Lydia?” Stiles muttered to himself, gripping the railing and slowly descending the stairs, following the familiar sweet song- like a sailor to a Siren.

Stiles rounded the stairs and peeked his head in towards the kitchen, the definite source of the music. Standing at the stove, Stiles saw a tall, thin woman with long, flowing brunette hair, wearing a floral sundress coming down to just below her knees. Her back was to Stiles, but he recognized her right away.

“M-Mom?” Stiles whispered, taking another step towards the kitchen. The woman turned around, her face just as Stiles remembered, glowing in the low kitchen lighting but still seemingly brightening the whole room with just her smile.

“Stiles! Sweetie! How are you?” She cheered, giving her whitest smile to her only son for the first time in over six years,

“Mom, what are you doing here?” Stiles asked quietly, still slowly advancing towards her.

“I’m cooking you dinner; you look like you haven’t eaten in days.” She said, cocking her head, as if it was the only response. As if everything was normal. Stiles took that as his sign of ‘ _you’re completely dreaming this. Get out **now**_ ’.

“Mom. Y-You aren’t here.” Stiles was telling himself more than the figment in front of him. “I’m crazy, Mom. You- You aren’t here. This is a trick… This can’t be-”

“Oh, Stiles, honey. I know.” She cooed, walking up and meeting Stiles halfway between the stairs and the kitchen. “I know I’ve been… _gone_ for a while, but I’m still here. I’m still here for you.” She reached out and cupped Stiles’ face, her warm hands holding up Stiles’ chin. As much as Stiles wanted to refuse and pull away from her touch, Stiles felt himself lean into her hands, sighing as she kissed his forehead- before curiously running the tips of her fingers over Stiles’ hair. “I like it grown out like this.” She said off-handedly. As if she hadn’t just finished convincing Stiles that she was a peaceful deity and not another harmful nightmare, all without explicitly saying _any_ of that information. Or even hinting at the demonic mastermind behind her reappearance.

“Thanks. I, uh, I didn’t feel like cutting it for a few months and well. Yeah. This happened.” Stiles explained brokenly, allowing himself to be dragged back to the kitchen, his mother’s hand holding his.

“It looks very nice.” His mother told him, grinning again. “ _You_ look very nice; you’ve changed a lot from the last time I saw you. You’re all grown up.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. I’m not a kid anymore. I’m seventeen now.” Stiles muttered, rubbing the back of his neck and staring at the floor. He couldn’t believe he was talking to his mother again. He hadn’t had a fluent conversation with his mom since _before_ she died.

“Seventeen? Oh my goodness- sit down and catch your old mother up! I’ve missed so much!” She cried, patting the spot on the counter Stiles always used to sit, kicking his feet and telling his mother about his day at school. As Stiles climbed up onto his old spot and opened his mouth to speak, he realized he wasn’t even sure what he wanted to, or could, say to his mother. Countless years and milestones missed and Stiles had to somehow sum it up in a few sentences.

The last memories Stiles had of his mother, of the time in his life during those last few months with his mother, were not very comforting: his mother was barely someone he knew, his father was turning to a bottle for comfort, and Stiles was struggling with the thought of living without his mother, the thought of being raised by his constantly busy, over worked, and over stressed father. He remembered Scott constantly inviting him over just to get him out of the house and give him something else to think about. His entire world was evolved around death. And sure, his mother’s passing was terrible and Stiles _still_ wasn’t over it, but once his mother died, that all stopped; his world stopped being about death and last goodbyes and never leaving mad and always saying ‘I love you’. It was morbid to think about, your own mother’s passing being a blessing, but it was a secret Stiles always held deep within himself- and he hadn’t confronted it in a long time. But now, he had to. He had to explain to his mother how his life had changed, how it had moved on since she died. And how Stiles was _glad_ it had. How he was glad Scott and him didn’t talk about it- except on the occasions Scott had found him crying on the playground during recess, or more recently, hyperventilating in the boys' locker room before a lacrosse game. How he was glad his dad buried himself in his work so they never had to talk about it. How his life no longer worked around the nurses' schedules, or the doctor’s appointments- no longer worked around death.

How do you happily explain the life after your mother’s death, to the very mother that you have been living without?

“L-Life’s been okay.” Stiles said finally, wringing his hands in his lap and fidgeting. “T-Things have been okay.”

“Have they?” She seemed pleased with Stiles’ response, moments away from asking follow up questions, when her eyes fell to Stiles’ nervous ticks: his constant hand wringing and foot tapping against the cabinet. “Stiles, sweetie, stop moving. You’re making me nervous.”

Stiles almost forgot; his mother had never seen him with anxiety. He got all of that _after_ she died. His mother had no idea who he was now- the medications he was on, the panic attacks he endured randomly throughout his day without warning, the councilors he had seen. His mother knew none of it. And that’s how Stiles was going to keep it.

“Sorry… I’m just a little energetic, that’s all.” Stiles lied, knowing very well that the bags under his eyes told a very different story. Stiles forced himself to still and pay vehement attention to his mother, not thinking about how little she knew. 

But it was harder than Stiles immediately thought; every time his mother mentioned an old childhood habit of his, he couldn’t help but hang his head and stare at the hands he was nervously wringing in his lap, avoiding the realization that he was no longer the happy, bouncy child his mother had raised. Eventually, his mother stopped talking and quietly watched him.

“S-Stiles? Is everything alright?” She whispered, holding his hands still. “Stiles, sweetie, what’s wrong? Talk to me.”

Stiles hadn’t been expecting such a worried tone from his mother; this _image_ in front of him knew nothing, she was simply a figment of his imagination listening to him and merely being his mind's way of performing catharsis. This woman wasn’t real, she wasn’t really his mother, but no matter _what_ she was, she was truly concerned. She was looking into his eyes with the familiar pair that provided Stiles with comfort for the first years of his life and convincing him one more time that the world wasn’t crumbling and that everything would be okay in a reality Stiles wasn’t even sure was real. She was comforting Stiles in a place he had never felt at ease or calm.

“I’m fine, Mom. Really. I’m just, uh, I’m going through some stuff.” Stiles brushed off living in a tortuous nightmare as ‘nothing’ without a second thought; he couldn’t tell his mother. Real or not, he couldn’t watch her face fall as she processed the information of Stiles practically _dying_ to find the location of his father about to be ritually sacrificed, leaving a door into his mind wide open for a thousand year old spirit to come busting in and possessing the only son she ever had, nearly killing him in the process. Stiles knew that he wouldn’t really be telling his mother, but he knew that having her hear the truth would destroy her- and him. “I’m just feeling, a little… _down_ that’s all. You know, like Dad used to get: Not want to get out of bed for a little, getting really jittery at certain things, that empty sinking feeling that would keep him up for days on end-”

“Don’t tell me _you_ feel like that, Stiles.” She muttered, her brows furrowing as she looked over Stiles again, taking more notice to tapping fingers. “Oh… Oh, Stiles.”

“I’m fine, Mom.” Stiles assured her as she held the side of his face, brushing a thumb over his hollow, bony cheek. “I’m fine. E-Everything’s fine.” He could tell he wasn’t fooling her, even if she was part of his _own_ imagination.

“Maybe, Stiles,” She whispered, looking at him fondly again. “Maybe you should just, let go.”

Suddenly, something felt different. Stiles could feel the world around him shift, the hallucination around him tear and reveal the falsities underneath. The house grew colder and the lights flickered around his mother, giving her a more eerie light cast over her delicate features. Her touch felt unnatural against his skin and her presence no longer comforted him. He pulled away from her and quickly scanned the room for a blemish in his reality’s disguise.

“Stiles. Stiles, are you listening?” She asked, following his line of vision and watching him look around at the kitchen suspiciously. “Stop doing this to yourself. Just, stop it.”

“No, mom. I can’t, I can’t stop.” Stiles muttered to himself, knowing the routine to get himself back to the familiar, yet equally terrifying, ‘reality’ he knew; he’d have to find the anomaly. He’d have to find the Nogitsune behind the curtain.

“No. That’s not what I meant.” She said, holding his shoulders to force him to focus on her. “Just stop, doing _this_. Give it up. You don’t have to live like _this,_ sweetie.”

“What are you talking about, Mom?” Stiles was used to having conversations with his mother that made no sense, but this one seemed like the confusion was more on Stiles’ end than his mother’s.

“It’s not as scary as everyone thinks, Stiles.” She continued, seemingly digressing from her point. “It feels like falling asleep. The pain just- It stops. And it can stop for you too, sweetie. You don’t have to live like this. Just, let go.”

Stiles had been living in a hazy, cloudy world of lies, deception, and confusion, but now, more than ever, things were crystal clear. His mother, the woman who raised him and taught him how to walk, read, and be unapologetically proud of himself was trying to convince Stiles to kill himself. The first time Stiles has seen his mother in almost seven years and she tells him that death isn’t as terrifying as everyone thinks, that he should just let go and stop all pain, just be free.

What made Stiles' stomach sink farther was that it hadn’t been the first time suicide had come into his mind. He had thought about taking himself from the everyday torture and giving himself over to silence and nothingness before, in the beginning of his new found nightmares, but he had refused the voice inside himself every time. He reminded himself of Scott, of the promise they had made after they had submerged themselves in ice cold water for the greater good of their parents; the promise that no matter how bad things got, how many obstacles they faced on their way to recovery, they would never think to kill themselves, to leave the other. After Stiles’ first bout of sleep paralysis, he remembered Scott hesitatingly grabbing his arm and asking Stiles if he was scared, scared of the nightmares and of what could happen. Stiles was sure Scott thought he had been as subtle as possible, but Stiles always knew from that moment on Scott had him on constant supervision, watching him and making sure nothing was getting to Stiles. Making sure his friend kept his promise. 

But now, who was watching Stiles? Sure, the pack was around Stiles constantly- he could feel their presence- but none of them could see what Stiles was thinking, what he was doing. Who was looking after Stiles now? Who would take responsibility if Stiles broke his vow and just _let go_.

Stiles knew Scott would. And he couldn’t let that happen. He had to stay alive, if not for himself and the hope of shattering the distorting fun-house mirrors around him, then for Scott. The boy keeping _his_ promise.

“I’m not going to… Resort to that, Mom. I have to fight this.” Stiles argued, placing his hands over his mother’s. "I can't let go like that."

“But what are you fighting, Stiles? Can you even win- Is this even a battle _worth_ fighting?” She asked, tightening her grip on Stiles’ shoulders and pushing him back against the hanging cabinets. “Do you really want to start battling this _monster_ inside you? It is half you after all, Stiles… Won’t you get lost in the midst of it all? Is it really safe to fight back? Why not just stop him- stop both of you?” Her voice was growing more and more panicked as she spoke to Stiles, inching closer to him and staring _into_ him with eyes that were slowly turning cold and distant. “Stop yourself, Stiles. Before you hurt someone.”

As the realization struck him, Stiles didn’t feel panicked or anxious as he usually would; as he realized that his mother wasn’t a peaceful vision, but the Nogitsune himself, Stiles felt himself go limp in the demon’s grip, letting it pick him up off the counter and push him against the wall. He had seen terrible things before- Allison die before his very eyes in every way imaginable, Scott threatening him with a gun, Lydia nearly stabbing him to death- but never before had a vision been so cruel that Stiles felt no immediate urge to fight back. All he felt coursing through his veins was defeat. He had been manipulated by the last thing kept sacred in his memories; his mother was something they both seemed to never touch, except when being dragged to his childhood park and having memories involuntarily jogged and relived. His mother, and Stiles, had suffered enough, there was no reason to bring her into things. But now, nothing was safe.

His mother put her arm across Stiles’ throat and kept his body pinned against the wall as she laughed, spitting insults at how gullible Stiles was, how he didn’t even question his mother; he was living in a daily nightmare and suddenly his mother was alive and breathing and he just _goes with it_.

“You know, Stiles.” It said, giving him a wicked smile. “You’re much easier to play with when you’re completely unconscious.”

“This isn’t a game.” Stiles hissed, jolting forward only to get shoved back against the wall, his head slamming into the picture frame behind him. “And the only reason I am unconscious is because they gave me a _sedative_ because you were going to _kill me_.” Stiles shouted back; he was able to at least _follow_ what had happened the day prior. In between going in and out of consciousness and possession, he was able to catch onto what was happening to him, and what the pack was doing: saving his life.

“Me? Why do you assume it’s _me_ trying to kill _you_?” It sneered, making his mother’s face look genuinely amused and chuffed. “What makes me and you so different, Stiles? When do my actions differ from yours? I’m simply a figment of _your_ imagination. I’m all in _your_ head.”

“You are nothing like me.” Stiles said through his clenched teeth, remembering towards the beginning of his possession how the Nogitsune would whisper in his ear the pain Stiles should inflict on his friends, all while they were out at dinner or simply at a movie. The Nogitsune had suggested poisoning Scott, slitting Lydia’s throat, and even shooting his father with his own gun. Stiles and the Nogitsune were not the same. They were nothing alike. And no hallucination could tell him otherwise.

“Oh, but Stiles, I’m all you have.” It said patronizingly. “All your friends are slowly leaving. You have no one left.”

“That’s a lie. Scott won’t leave me. And Lydia, she’s one of my closest friends. And… And…” Stiles could feel himself reaching for a name, like a hand grasping at thin air, but grabbing onto nothing. There was another person, another person Stiles kept close to his heart and cared about more than himself, but the name was gone. Stiles couldn’t seem to recall this _person_ that was there, on the tip of his tongue, standing like a distance silhouette in all of his dreams. Present but far enough to still be a stranger.

“Cat got your tongue, Stiles?” It chuckled, grinning at Stiles’ concentrated face. “Can’t seem to remember something? Well, _isn't that’s odd_.”

“What does that mean?” Stiles could just _see_ the joy spread over his mother’s face as Stiles stopped trying to search for the name- one he knew he’d never find. “What did you do? What are you doing to me?”

“Well, _I_ didn’t really do anything. You really did it- well, _us_.”

“ _Stop saying that_.” Stiles hissed, shoving his mother back. “We are _not_ a ‘we’. You are just some demon possessing me and screwing with my head. I have nothing to do with what you do- how you choose to torture me.”

“Stiles, I am strictly in your head. I don’t exist anywhere else.” It explained, letting Stiles come away from the wall, gaining his own personal space- and a false sense of security. “All I deal with is what’s in your head- your thoughts, your words, your memories. You can’t be angry with me if I, say, _scrambled_ your memory a little bit; it makes things easier for me- _us_.”

“Who am I forgetting?” Stiles shouted, charging at his own mother and reaching out to grab her- _it-_  by the neck. “Who are you taking from me?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I know as much as you do, Stiles.” It chuckled, stepping aside and missing Stiles’ attack with ease. “But if I were to hazard a guess, I would say that they are _probably_ the love of your life. Or _something_ like that.”

“You son of a bitch.” Stiles could feel his face growing flushed with anger as he glared at the monster in his kitchen, in the form of his mother. “How _dare_ you take them from me!” Stiles used ‘them’ once he realized he wasn’t even sure of the gender of the person he was forgetting. He knew absolutely nothing about the apparent love of his life. And probably never would; they would be forever lost in Stiles' altered memories.

“Why does it matter, Stiles? It’s not like you know them anyway! You don’t know what you’re missing.” The hallucination before him had regained his mother’s kind demeanor and tone of voice as it tried to convince Stiles that his lapse of memory was ‘for the best’. “It’ll be fine.”

“Stop playing games with head. T-This isn’t a game. This isn’t another one of your tricks or riddles- this is my entire world; my perception, my reality, and my fucking _brain_. Stop stirring everything around like you’re trying to mix damn paint! Leave me _alone_. Leave my _mother_ alone.”

“Game? What makes you think this is a game?” His mother’s voice dropped and sounded inhuman as she stared at him. “I’ll show you a game.” The lights around Stiles dimmed and when they returned to their normal brightness, Stiles saw himself standing before him, a wide, crooked smile plastered across his face. “Is this fun yet?”

“Leave _me_ out of this. Leave me alone. Get out of my head!” Stiles yelled, feeling his nerves fray as the Nogitsune inched closer to him- definitely the spirit's own working; even Stiles’ emotions weren’t his own. “This isn’t funny anymore.” Stiles managed as his heart rate began racing, his arms shaking and legs giving out and causing him to grab onto the counter for support.

“You’re right. This isn’t fun anymore.” It said, letting its shoulders sag. “We should stop the games.” That didn’t sound as promising as Stiles had anticipated. “I’ve had my fun, let’s cut you loose. Besides, your sedative should be wearing off any minute now; this is the perfect time.”

“W-What are you doing?” Stiles felt all of his muscles go weak once more, his entire body feeling too heavy for him to carry and his eyelids growing heavier by the second. "W-What... What are you doing _now?"_

“I’m going to end the game.” It said, winking at Stiles. “Well, actually. _You are_.”


	8. Come Back To Me

Derek didn’t remember falling asleep on Stiles’ couch. Especially not with Lydia lying with her head resting on the other arm rest and feet resting on Derek’s body. He mostly remembered the mild chaos that ensued from the drastic measures taken to keep Stiles alive, but unfortunately possessed. Derek knew he was the one who carried Stiles upstairs with his dad and put him in his bed, hoping that he would make it through his forced night’s rest peacefully. Derek knew Stiles’ father had walked him down the stairs thanking him, and the rest of the pack, for all they had done for Stiles, and that he couldn’t have asked for a better group of friends for Stiles. Derek remembered thinking it sounded like a compliment given out at a funeral more than at any sign of recovery. The pack cumulatively seemed to think things weren’t about to end well. It wasn't as much as a ‘great job, everyone’ as it was a ‘you did all you could’, and Derek was nowhere near facing that reality…

And that’s when Derek remembered lying on the couch, listening to Scott panic and worry aloud, letting Lydia lay across from him, only to pass out from stress and possible exhaustion before he could even talk Scott down from his ledge.

“Oh, good, you’re awake.” Scott said, causing Derek to jump and nearly kick Lydia in the face.

“ _What_ , Scott?” Derek hissed, looking around at all the pack members asleep around them. “What do you want? Stiles is going to be out for another couple hours; go back to sleep or something. Do something  _other_  than worry about his death. Because that  _isn’t_  helping. Surprisingly enough.” Derek huffed under his breath, rolling over.

“No. I’m not worrying- well, not right now.” Scott muttered. “Deaton called, he had a break in and I’m going to just go check on him. I was waiting for someone to wake up so I could leave and no one would freak out since both me  _and_  the Sheriff would be missing, trying to solve a breaking and entering… And not watching Stiles.” Derek slowly rolled over, reopening his eyes and letting Scott see that he was, in fact, staying awake for his cause.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of him.” Lydia grumbled, rolling over and rubbing her eyes. “I’ll check on him in another ten minutes or so. You go see Deaton." 

“Are you sure?” Scott asked, touching Lydia’s shoulder. “You can keep sleeping.”

“’s fine. Just go solve Deaton’s problem… About time we actually had answers to something.” Derek and Scott looked at each other, thinking the same thing as Lydia, and nodded to each other- Scott assuring Derek that he would go and come back, and Derek assuring Scott that he, himself, would check on Stiles in case Lydia fell back to sleep.

Derek told himself he’d only sleep for another twenty minutes, before bypassing Lydia and checking on Stiles himself. But, thanks to the past week of over exertion and exhaustion, Derek found himself struggling to keep his eyes open and mind alert; he ended up being woken up one hour later to Lydia shouting at the top of her lungs.

“ _He’s gone_.” She shouted, nearly shoving Derek off the couch. “Derek. Derek wake up, what do I do?”

“What? What are you talking about? You spoke to Scott already; he said he’d be back.” Derek grumbled, sitting upright.

“No.” Lydia said slowly. “Not Scott.  _Stiles_.”

“Stiles is missing?” Malia gasped, launching herself off the couch and onto her feet. That was not the person Derek was hoping Lydia would be upset about; whenever Lydia was upset about people being missing, and the pack didn't know where they were, bad things usually happened. That whole banshee thing ruins teenage naivety.

“Wait, wait, wait- What do you mean?” Derek muddled through his confusion to find the correct words to ask for clarification. “He’s just-”

“Gone.” Lydia finished, her voice an airy whisper of disbelief.

 _Gone_. Stiles had been forcefully, but  _safely_ , sleeping for the past twelve hours, curled up in his bed, where the pack left him to be, soundly and peacefully. But suddenly, what they had done to Stiles to try and keep him alive, only made it so Stiles could slip away without their notice. Once they all thought he was out for the night- and presumably the day after- he was able to safely leave their minds and allow for a seemingly deserved but now deemed inappropriate good night’s sleep. And to made matters worse was Derek knew Stiles wasn’t _taken_ or _kidnapped;_  Derek knew Stiles just got up and left. Just like that. Stiles regained the use of his spindly, shaking legs, and walked  _right_  out the door and far, far away from them.

It felt as if they had almost let Stiles get away. And anything that happened to him was going to be their fault.

Derek immediately envisioned Stiles stumbling around parts of the forest strictly suitable for say, Derek and Scott rather than Stiles on his own; Stiles being misled by a sick, twisted version of a childhood memory straight into harm’s way; Stiles taking his last, shaking and terrified breath, completely alone, but possibly blissfully unaware of his enclosing fate.

Derek could only hope that Stiles was unconscious wherever he was, hopefully still asleep and content in his dreams until one of the pack members could find him.

“I’m gonna call Scott.” Malia said, noticing the frozen, thousand mile stares growing on Derek and Lydia’s faces as they both realized the situation; Derek lost in his train of thought, while Lydia staring off, focusing her powers and trying to see if anything made her throat itch and mind fog over with the overbearing desire to scream.

Malia was still on the phone with Scott technically when he came busting in the door, hastily asking questions and giving no time for responses. Derek wasn’t sure what Scott or any of the other pack members were saying if he was being honest. All he could focus on was Lydia, sitting across from him, slowly becoming in tune with her senses and waiting for  _something_  to happen.

The more Lydia remained still and silent, the longer Stiles remained safe. The minute Lydia moved was the second Derek knew Stiles was dying or already dead. Derek couldn’t bring himself to answer Scott and the fifty questions he was asking him frantically, he only noticed the minute way Lydia’s eyebrows were furrowing and her eyes were looking around. Eventually, Scott gripped Derek’s shoulder and forced him to come alive and focus on him.

“Did you see anything?” Scott asked, his voice impatient yet unsteady. “ _Derek_. Did you see Stiles leave at all? Did you see anything?”

“N-No. I was out the whole time. I woke up to Lydia freaking out about him being missing. I didn’t see a damn thing. None of us did.” Derek managed, finally prying his eyes away from Lydia and her still confused face, to look at Scott honestly. “I am of absolutely no help right now.”

Derek wasn’t being petty or looking to be coddled and told that he  _was_  useful and that anything he did to help with the search was helpful or whatever other lies Scott wanted to lay on thickly. Derek honestly knew that he was of no help to the group at that moment. Sure he was clear minded and seemingly focused, but he knew once people started searching and things would start coming up empty, Derek would lose his levelheadedness and begin to panic and worry- and most definitely  _lose it_  over Stiles’ disappearance.

Parts of Derek still felt responsible for all that had happened; the way he had left all the way up to this moment of pure hopelessness rippling throughout the pack. Derek felt like he had had a hand in all of it. And now he didn’t even know where to begin to pick up the pieces. He was mostly definitely useless to the cause of finding Stiles, to finding the boy Derek so desperately and secretly loved. The only thing he was good for was sitting, and waiting.

Which is exactly what Scott put him to work to do.

“Malia and I will go out and try to tract his scent. Kira, Lydia? You two go find the sheriff and the deputy; try to get something legally done to find Stiles. Maybe find his car or something.” Scott suggested, nodding at the pair. “And Derek, will you stay here in case Stiles comes back- in any capacity.”

“Yeah, I can do that.” Derek nodded, watching Scott's face noticeably relax as Derek cooperated and didn’t argue that he should be out looking for Stiles. “I’ll be fine staying here. You guys go. Go find Stiles.”

It was obvious the pack wasn’t set on quickly splitting and going their separate ways. Even if it meant they were doing nothing, simply being together felt safe. They felt orderly and content- but they had to start moving. Even though leaving and searching made the danger real; it started the timer and made it seem more likely that it’d reach zero before any of them had a hand on Stiles. But they couldn’t let the timer tick down without at least  _trying_  to find him. They had to try  _something_. And it started with Derek staying put on the couch, Scott pulling Malia up the stairs to get one of Stiles’ shirts, while Lydia and Kira started off for the sheriff’s station- Lydia quietly muttering something about water to herself, about waves lapping against the inside of her head.

It wasn’t long before Derek was very much alone, staring at the wall and listening to his brain spiral out of control, thinking of every possible mistake the pack could be making in their hunt for their friend: Wrong turns, traps, things left for them by the Nogitsune. Derek couldn’t stop thinking of the possibilities. Eventually, he found himself on his feet, pacing the room and slowly making his way around the first floor, before subconsciously carrying himself up to Stiles’ room, in search of something that could also very well have been nothing at all.

The room was in completely disarray, and Derek felt his sprouting optimism placed in finding a sign drain out of him as he saw Stiles' desk chair overturned and papers strewn everywhere, like there was a fight. There was shattered glass on the floor from thrown picture frames and fingernails tracks gracing every surface of Stiles’ room, leading Derek right back to Stiles’ door. At least Derek knew he went out the door and not through the window- it was a small comfort.

“Look at this place, Stiles.” Derek muttered, bending down to pick up a pile of torn pages. “What’s happening to you? Where are you leading us?” Derek ran his fingers over the crinkled paper and noticed a footprint dirtying only a single page on the floor. The shoe left only a visible heel mark over the information, the rest merely being hidden by the rounded out wrinkles. Derek slipped the paper out from the carnage on the floor and held it closer to himself. Derek expected a large thunderclap of understanding to strike him backwards, scrambling with the truth- but it was just a torn page of the bestiary. Probably one from Lydia’s library Derek had found in a similar shape to Stiles’ room not too long ago. Disasters come in pairs apparently.

Derek held onto the page as he stood, looking at the alien language and trying to decipher what it was Stiles- or the Nogitsune- could be reading; Derek knew Stiles didn’t know archaic Latin. He didn’t know what any of it said. All Derek could observe confidently was the depiction of scales across the torn corner.

“Reptiles?” Derek muttered to himself aloud, listening to his own incredulous voice. “What the hell does a teenage boy want with a page about freaking rep-” Derek felt his voice stop mid-train of thought as something in his brain clicked two separated pieces together, creating a clearer picture. “The _Kanima?_ ”

Even though Derek had uttered the words aloud, he still wasn’t sure what it  _meant_. Sure, he had figured out what the page originated from, but it was  _one page_  in a mess of thousands. How did Derek knew it meant anything?

“Think, Derek. Thinkthink _think_.” He muttered, pacing the room, trying to think of reasons, of  _answers_. Why would the missing half to that page in Lydia's library be  _here_. Why that page? “God, this is so much easier when Stiles is here to figure it out.”

 _When Stiles was there._  That was it. That was the strategy- or at least the supposed plan. Derek just had to  _think_  like Stiles. Even if they all hadn’t counted on it, there was still  _some_ Stiles left in the Nogitsune; after all, all the Nogitsune had was Stiles’ memories and his mind. He only had so much to work with... But still it didn't seem to narrow things down. Limited world view or not.

Derek began to doubt his own stroke of genius when he realized that thinking with Stiles’ new scope of mind wasn’t doing much for him; Stiles had no reason to want a Kanima anywhere  _near_  him again. The last time Stiles- and Derek- had encountered a Kanima straight on, it had tried to-

_“Hey, Kira? D-Do you hear waves? Don’t you hear that water?”_

-drown them in the school’s swimming pool.

Derek was sure he didn’t need to call Deaton to ask what had been stolen from him; one drop of Kanima venom and Stiles would be rendered helpless in any body of water, Nogitsune or not.

That was Derek’s answer. That’s where he was; the Nogitsune had no free thought, no original ideas to chose from, only the nightmares existing in Stiles’ head- and nearly drowning while trying to save a neck-down paralyzed friend is pretty damn _terrifying._

A slow death, Derek thought. The fear would last up until the drop of venom touched Stiles’ skin and then the panic would most likely strangle the life out of Stiles before the water could even lap around his face. The Nogitsune didn’t even  _need_  the water to kill Stiles, he was going to use every other means to do so first.

Time was running out, and the entire pack was no where near any body of water to find him; Scott had told him that he was going with Malia into the woods and Lydia and Kira were at the station. Derek knew he had to be the one to save, or rather _find_  Stiles.

Not that Derek had  _truly_  considered finding him dead at the bottom of a pool...

Not even as Derek pulled up to the school, had the thought thoroughly sunken in yet; Derek had been fighting it the entire drive over, pushing the cold, numbing feeling away from his heart, not letting it get its claws in deep enough to leave a gash- to let his fear in. And just as his heart began to give in to its fight, Derek heard another one; another heart beating in the distance, racing faster than Derek ever thought humanly possible.

“ _Stiles!_ ” He yelled, sprinting from his car towards the sound that was filling Derek with enough hope to actually cause him to smile as he reached the gym door. He yanked the metal door off its hinges as he rushed in, still calling after the pitter-pattering hummingbird heartbeat. “Stiles, don’t worry! Here I-”

Stiles was by the edge of the pool with a hand wrapped around his own throat, choking himself while the other held a thin vile with clear slime oozing from the top. Stiles was standing, but by an odd force of nature, keeping his knees locked and body upright. Stiles looked like he was up on strings, fighting the puppeteers controlling him, with only strained shouting and jerky motions as he peeked through his possession. Stiles was fighting. He wasn’t winning, but he was  _fighting._

“ _Let me go_!” Stiles shrieked, his left hand clenching tighter around his throat, causing his mouth to drop open more as he gasped for breath. “ _LET. M-ME- Gahh!_ ” Stiles’ words were cut out by the unmistakable choking sounds of a last breath. Derek could see his lips turning blue and the vile titling more towards his mouth.

Before Derek even knew what he was doing, he was charging at the frail boy and knocking him to the ground. The vile slid across the cement floor and left a dangerous trail of venom all the way to the wall. Stiles’ head hit the ground with a painful  _thwap_  as Derek shouldered him down, caring only to hear that  _blissful_  sound of another gasp of air.

Instead of breathing though, Derek heard crying. Heavy, distraught,  _angry_  sobs echoed around Derek and rang through his ears. He pushed himself off Stiles to stare into the face of the possessed young man, thrashing around and screaming at the top of his lungs gibberish Derek had no luck distinguishing.

“ _’ELL ME._ ” Stiles wailed, his neck straining as he seized on the cement floor, causing Derek to quickly slip his hands around Stiles' head and steady it as to to prevent  _future_  brain damage. “ _WHO_.  _WHO ‘S IT. WHO ARE YOU MAKING ME FORGET?”_   Stiles managed his first and only full sentence before his eyes began to roll into the back of his head and convulsions began to get more intense.

“Stiles!” Derek wasn’t sure what else to do beside try and chase the darkness away with the hope and optimism of a familiar voice. “Stiles, come on. Come back to me.” Derek still held Stiles’ head in the cushion of his laced fingers, hoping to keep Stiles safe. “What’s happening? Come on, talk to  _me_. What’s happening?”

Both of Stiles’ hands began grabbing onto his throat, creating a death grip and cutting off Stiles’ crying within the second. Whatever Stiles was saying as he broke through the possession was something not meant to be heard. The Nogitsune was going to silence Stiles even if it meant abandoning the plan.

Derek slipped Stiles’ head onto his lap and he used his hands to pry Stiles’ away from his throat. All the while coaxing Stiles into talking again; saying something he wasn’t supposed to.

“Talk to me, Stiles.” Derek pleaded, grabbing onto Stiles’ hands and holding them forcefully in his own. “I know you don't trust me right now since I left and all, but I want you to  _talk to me_. I'm right here for you.” Stiles’ grip loosened in Derek’s hands and his convulsions slowed to a rhythmic rocking. “Stiles?" Derek breathed, watching Stiles' eyelids flutter. "Stiles, are you there? It's me. It's Derek."

As Derek placed his hand over one of Stiles', squeezing it and seeing if Stiles would respond, Stiles’ body bridged up off the floor and he started coughing up bile onto his shirt. His entire body trembled as he fell back down, his convulsions sending him onto his side. Derek quickly grabbed Stiles' shoulders and stopped him from rolling into the pool with his leg. Derek had both arms tightly bound around his shoulders and his right leg hooked over Stiles'; it was an awkward embrace to the wrong audience, but it stopped Stiles.

It stopped _everything._

The minute Derek stopped Stiles from plopping into the pool, sure to drown, his seizing froze and his breathing suspended. Derek was sure he had killed Stiles. He heard a pulse and a breathing pattern, but it was faint and not as loud and prominent as before. Derek lifted his leg away from Stiles and let his head rest back down on the pavement, watching the boy’s chest rise and fall with absolute numbness; everything was happening so fast, and now, there was nothing.

"Stiles?" Derek said again, his voice sounding foreign; his usually confident tone wavering as he tried to speak to the body in front of him. "Stiles, please say something. P-Please don't be dead... I need you." Derek's voice cracked as he sat back on his heels and realized that this conversation- as well as many others- were going to remain one way. Derek could call him and call him, but Stiles might never answer. "I-I need you. I need you wake up, I need you to not be dead, I need you to tell me you're fine- I just, _I need you_."

“Since when do  _you_ need  _me_.” Stiles croaked, coughing and curling into himself with sudden writhes of pain.

“ _Oh my god_ \- Stiles!” Against all of Derek's instincts, as soon as Stiles spoke, Derek pulled himself over to him and scooped the boy up in his arms, holding him closely and rocking him with quiet reassurances of safety. “Oh my god. Oh my god- You’re okay. Y-You made it. You’re gonna be fine.”

“Fine’s a pretty- a pretty strong word.” Stiles muttered, interrupting himself with a fit of heavy, sore coughing. It sounded like he was trying to laugh, but all he could do was wheeze out the heavy, sitting sadness in his lungs, like dust in a squeaker. Derek hushed Stiles' painful joy and held the back of his head, letting Stiles lean against him in resignation to the weight he had been carrying for months.

“You’re gonna be fine. I promise.” Derek sat back on his heels and took steady, deep breaths with Stiles as he rocked the boy back and forth, still soothing him and getting his faint heartbeat back to its previously absent steady, strong pattern. “You’ve won. You’re gonna be fine.”

“I knew you’d be back.” Stiles’ voice was barely above a whisper. “He couldn’t keep you from me.”

“I’m back, Stiles.” Derek repeated, continuing his rhythm and listening for Stiles' strengthening heartbeat. “I’m not going to leave again. I’m here for good. I’m right here with you.”

“Does this mean-” Stiles stopped again to cough harshly, his body lurching forward and his hands white knuckling Derek’s jacket in pain. “Does this m-mean it's over.”

“Yes, Stiles, yes. You're fighting is over.” Derek promised, rubbing Stiles’ back soothingly. “Now, let’s just get you home. You’ve got quite a fan club waiting to see you.”

“Scott?” Stiles gasped, his body tensing up in a cough immediately after.

“Shh, yes, Scott’s there.” Derek assured him, trying to get Stiles to calm down; his heart rate was out of control.

“Stiles?” For the first time since Stiles had fallen into Derek’s arms, Derek began paying attention to his surroundings, letting his heightened senses observe the extra sets of heartbeats behind them. Four to be exact.

“Sc-Scott! Scott, you’re alive!” Stiles tried getting up and going towards Scott, but fell before he could even get to his knees. Derek caught him and held him still while Scott rushed over, Lydia close behind.

“We’re alive! We’re alive! And you are too!” Scott cried, his voice squeaky and high pitched as he failed all attempts to not cry at the sight of his friend alive and _unpossessed._

Scott got to Stiles first, holding him by the shoulders and taking in his thin, shadowed face and sunken in eyes. Scott looked scared for a second, staring directly into the eyes of what had been a monster seconds prior. But once _Stiles_ stared back- Scott’s best and closest friend returned his gaze- Scott threw him into his arms and gripped Stiles so tightly, Derek had to remind Scott that he had super strength- and _could_ kill Stiles.

Scott loosened his arms immediately and backed away, barely letting go before Lydia was cradling Stiles’ face, kissing his cheek and cooing about him being _alive_ and _with them_ and _himself_.

“Lydia. L-Lydia.” Derek tapped her arm lightly. “Don’t overwhelm him.” Stiles’ eyes were showing whites on all sides of his irises and he looked like he was having the shock of his life.

“S-Sorry. I’m just happy to see you, Stiles. I-I just thought you, you were- I’m so glad you’re here.” She muttered, pushing Stiles’ hair back and looking at him fondly.

“I-It took ten years and me almost dying to get you to kiss me?” Stiles laughed, his giggles sounding broken and like a creaking door rather than a teenage boy kidding around with his friends.

“Oh shut up.” Lydia laughed wetly as she wiped her eyes and pursed her lips. “I was worried about you.”

“We all were.” Scott said, looking behind him at the other pack members approaching them. “Some more than others…” Scott muttered, noticing Derek’s still tight grip on Stiles’ arm- as if he was going anywhere.

Stiles followed Scott’s line of vision and looked at Derek, who immediately began feeling heat climb up his neck and engulf his face. Derek felt his lips press together and his ability to speak slip away from him again.

“I know.” Stiles said, keeping his eyes on Derek, lifting his lips slowly into a smile.

“I came back from South America, and you were just _gone_ … I-I wasn’t sure what I was going to do without you.” Derek admitted quietly, no longer looking at Stiles as to avoid seeing Scott in his peripheral vision as well.

“Don’t give me that crap-”

“I wasn’t sure what I was going to do if you… _left_ , and I never said anything back… I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I never told you-” Derek trailed off, forcing himself to look up at Stiles. Derek was afraid of nervously darting his eyes over to Scott’s gawking expression and immediately feeling the urge to shut his _goddamn mouth_. But he kept his eyes trained on Stiles’tired but focused expression, watching him patiently, and waiting for Derek to finish.

But, as Derek thought about how he wanted to end his sentence, he realized there really was no proper way to convey _everything_ he had been feeling in a simple phrase. How was Derek supposed to explain the constant state of _panic_ he had been living in, thinking that he’d never get Stiles back- _his_ Stiles. The Stiles he fell in love with, being a complete dork and trying to train Scott to control the shift with ropes, a lacrosse stick, and terrible aim. How could Derek explain the way Stiles had awkwardly rambled his way into his heart with the horrendous inability to play a sport and moral ambiguity that came up whenever the pack was threatened? How could Derek put into words what had been kept inside for so long? How did he know they could even be put _into_ words? Why couldn’t they just stay as befuddling emotions, incoherent sentences, and distracting daydreaming? It was the only way Derek knew those feelings. Derek wasn’t sure if sorting through those feelings- especially in public- would make those feelings any less real, comforting, or confusing.

“Never told him what?” Scott asked, not caring that sometimes silence said things the best. Both Stiles and Derek craned their necks to look at Scott, eagerly watching his friends, well, _confess their love for each other_. Stiles started wheeze-laughing again and Derek just covered his face with his hands and sighed deeply, feeling embarrassed for the way he had emotionally exposed himself in front of someone as hopelessly romantic as Scott McCall.

“I guess- I guess I’ll have to tell you later.” Derek muttered, rubbing the back of his neck and feeling like his confession was suddenly inappropriate and uncalled for, seeing as though the pack was all huddled around them, in their high school’s public swimming pool, right after Stiles came out of a nearly _year_ _long_ possession by a thousand year old spirit.

“Okay.” Stiles said quietly, looking at Derek and grinning. “I can wait.”

“Stiles, it’s been like, six months.” Scott hissed, looking incredulous. “This is getting ridiculous.” As clueless as Scott was sometimes, he apparently had been paying attention to  _one_ thing.

“Scott. We’re fine.” Stiles said, rolling his eyes and trying to turn himself away from Scott, but failing miserably due to his toothpick like arms. “But you know who’s not? Me. Now help me up.” He ordered, waving his arm so Scott came closer to him and could slip an arm around his waist. “Thank you.”

“On three, okay?” Scott said to Derek, slowly counting down before bringing Stiles to his feet. Scott counted back down and let Stiles put weight on his feet. Stiles stood on his own for only a second before he gasped and toppled into Derek, wincing and cursing through gritted teeth.

“T-That, _fuck_ , that was _not_ what I wanted t-to do.” Stiles panted, gritting his teeth. “ _Fuckfuckfuckfuck._ ” Derek grabbed onto Stiles quickly and took all the weight off of his feet before Stiles could even ask.

“A-Are you okay?” Scott asked, standing hesitantly around Stiles, afraid to touch him.

“Yeah-Yeah. I-I’m fine. Just, someone pull their car up. I don’t think I can go very far.” Stiles said against Derek shoulder, still holding onto him tightly.

“We can carry you-”

“ _Don’t_.” Stiles shouted, grabbing onto Derek’s collar and holding his hanging body closer to him. “Don’t touch me… J-Just, just get the car.”

“Pull the- yeah! Yeah, we’re on it!” Scott nearly tripped as he ordered the pack to follow him out and help him- as if more than person could drive a car. Derek watched them all run out before looking back down at Stiles who was looking up at him, smiling.

“W-What? What happened to your legs? Are they okay?” Derek asked, feeling a pang of anxiety hit him as he saw Stiles’ face change from being in intense pain to grinning in a matter of seconds. He had seen _that_ before. And he did not exactly like the outcome. “Are _you_ okay?”

“I’ve been better, but yeah, I’m fine.” Stiles assured him, slinging his arm around Derek and balancing his weight on his feet gingerly. He sounded mildly out of breath as he hung off Derek, panting from something other than physical exertion and making Derek’s hand shake against Stiles’ back. “I just wanted them gone.” _Oh_. Stiles had the intentions of getting them alone again.

“W-Why?” Derek prompted, swallowing nervously. Stiles had just essentially come out of coma, barely had use of his limbs, and wanted to talk. Derek most definitely wasn’t ready for such straight-forward emotional behavior. Holding Stiles for the first time was real enough for Derek. He didn’t think he could handle Stiles asking truth-hitting questions about how he truly felt, what he had been hiding from him all these years, and why Derek hadn’t let go of him just yet. “Why did they need to leave?”

“So I could do this-” Stiles barely got his sentence out before he had Derek’s face in his hands, their lips awkwardly coming together in the most blissfully terrifying moment of Derek’s life.

Derek wasn’t sure what to do at first. Suddenly all his feelings were being explained, but there were no words being exchanged- there didn’t need to be. Stiles was kissing him with honest but hesitant lips, and Derek was kissing back. Stiles was holding the back of Derek’s head, keeping him exactly where Stiles wanted- not that Derek was about to get _out_ of his way. Derek was holding Stiles’ waist close to him, not only keep him standing, but to fully embrace him, his hands splaying across the small of Stiles’ back and shoulders. The world around them ceased to exist and it was only them, clinging to each other, silently saying what three years had failed to convey. Sure, Derek heard the pack come running back in, but that didn’t mean he was going to stop; he was in the middle of a _very_ overdue conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and staying with the pack until the very end xoxo


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